Princess of Asgard
by SugerGPup-chan
Summary: I'm Tessa Rosalin Maberry of NYC & NJ. I'm an actress of many movies/plays, a singer of songs, & former model of poses. My family & friends are very important to me. I believe in heroes,those who wear capes & can fly & those who cannot, & I believe that every girl/woman is a princess & should be treated as such. And, I often wonder how my life would be if I was truly royalty.
1. Memories of the Forgotten

**A/N:**** Wow, it's been a long time. Year's in fact. I hope everyone is doing well – extraordinary even. If you are not, then I wish you the best and I hope you get better and smile. ^_^**

**For my followers, who have favored and chosen to follow me years back, I might not be returning to my **_**anime**_** works anytime soon. As much as I love **_**anime**_**, "real life" people movies/shows have recently appealed to me more. Hence, why I'm writing **_**Avengers**_** (and **_**Phantom of the Opera**_**) fanfiction(s). **

**Due to my sets and collections on polyvore gaining popularity, I've chosen to post the first chapter of **_**Princess of Asgard (PoA).**_** The first chapter of **_**PoA**_** is more of a prologue – as much as I hate them 'cause I'm OCD and the numbers don't line up in the index-thingy. I'll manage though. **

*****Fair warning though, the Princess does not and will not have a name for creative purposes. She will be known as "Princess," "young maiden," "dear sister," "daughter," and so on.*** Fear not, she will gain a name in the next chapter! I would, also, like to take this time to apologize if Loki is OOC. Since this is pre-_Thor_ and there is a older/younger sister in the mix, I figured he wouldn't be as... mischievous - at least with her. Remember that these are only GLIMPSES of memories, so who's to say he's... completely OOC?**

**And, it is up to YOU – the readers and reviewers – who my OC is with. You see, I can't choose between Loki and Steve. Although, I love Loki he is very different from what I normally write. Steve is safe and I'd like to give him a change. (I do have a fanfic idea strictly for Steve though.) Please let me know who you think she should end up with by as you read. I should have an idea by a certain chapter and be able to work out any kinks.**

**Please read, enjoy, and review.**

**Memories of the Forgotten**

The great palace of Asgard glimmered in the dwindling sunlight. The golden walls shone brilliantly, dazzling the citizens in the village below and casting the open halls in a dazzling golden color. The pillars' shadows hid the guards dressed in black and metal standing in front of them. Their faces remained unchanging to the sight behind them.

_Soon. _They all thought. Soon, their King will return.

The quiet halls were disturbed by the sound of rushing feet and heavy breathing. A girl, appearing no more than five years old, raced down the corridors. Her long, light pink nightgown was clutched in her tiny hands so that she may run faster than the two behind her. Her soft and long golden hair, which was once tied in pretty pink bows, was pulled behind her as she ran. Strands of it glistened in the dipping sun – perhaps it truly was made of gold or even the sun. Her eyes were the color of the mid-day sky – a blue that was so light, it would appear that birds could be flying in them. Or that could just be the emotions she's feeling passing by. With each quick breath that leaves past her pink lips, another came in, only to leave shortly after entering.

_Daddy, _she thought happily. She could already envision the tall and proud man she called Daddy opening his large arms for her. She was almost at the entrance. She'll be the first to hug her Daddy!

"Sister," shouted a tall blonde boy, "wait!"

She didn't. She didn't even turn her head to look back.

The boy gently grasped the arm of his younger brother, who was desperately trying not to cry from falling down. He rubbed his chubby arm across his eyes. He won't cry, not in front of his brother. He even left his stuffed toy in his chambers once he heard the news of his Father's return. His older sister and brother were already racing down the hall before he fell and cried out for help.

"Come, Loki," the tall boy's hand fell to grasp the toddler's hand. "We'll greet Father together."

"T'ank you, T'or." The shy toddler tightly gripped his hand. Together they jogged down the long hall; the guards smiled at the adorable sight.

The Princess of Asgard was nearly at the doors! She could see her mommy and daddy conversing; she let out a loud squeal when she saw the tall man dressed in gold armor.

"DADDY!" she screamed leaping into the air with her tiny arms wide open.

Odin laughed joyfully as he caught her, the loud sound resonating off the walls. He held her in the air and spun her around and around, her giggles joining his laughter. Frigga stepped back laughing whole-heartily at the scene before her.

"My sweet baby girl!" Odin shouted, hugging her tightly.

Little Loki was out of breath once he and Thor reached the entrance hall.

"FATHER!" Thor shouted, letting go of his brother's hand to embrace the Asgardian king.

Loki squealed out for his Father, rushing to hug him as well. It had been so long since he had last seen him. Since any of the three small children saw him. Why must he go away so long?

Frigga gracefully fell to her knees to join her family, her hands gently placed themselves on Odin's shoulders, and her lips kissed his cheek. _Our children are far too awake now to fall asleep._

_..._

A young maiden, just entering her years of adolescents, stared down at the courtyard where her friends and older brother played. Although her brother would say they are practicing, she knew better. They were playing. Surely practice wouldn't involve so much laughter and jest. The wooden swords _thunked_ together and the swords hit the metal shields. What would she have to do to prove to her Father that she could be a warrior?

"_You are my daughter!" _He said, voice booming. _"You are the Princess of Asgard! You are far too fragile to wield a blade! You will learn spells in their minority! You will never see the battlefield."_

Though he shouted with a fatherly protective air, she couldn't help but add her own mockery to it. Thinking simply that she was female, she could not fight. Sif was proving him wrong on that fact.

"You're staring again, dear sister." A smooth voice whispered in her ear.

Gasping, the Princess whirled around to face the dark haired prince. Loki had grown tall over the centuries, a foot taller than her now. Oh, how she missed the days when she was taller than her two brothers. His hair remained unchanged; still short and black as night. His eyes were a startling light green, and there was an ever present glimmer of mischief in them. His skin was still a healthy pale white; he spent far too much time in the libraries practicing all sorts of sorcery. Unlike most of the Asgardian males, Loki failed to have bulging muscles on his person. (Although, if the Princess wished to remain truthful, she admitted he has a lean built.)

With a huff, the Princess grabbed the forgotten book in her lap and began to read. She hoped that if she resumed her reading, she'll ignore her younger brother and the sparring several yards below and away from her perch. "Yes, and?"

Loki chuckled at her childish act, sitting in front of her on the open windowsill. Her legs were tucked under her in a ladylike fashion, her long and flowy pale lavender gown hid them. He took the book from her small hands. "'Tis upside down." He said when he saw her go to protest, handing it back to her.

"Thank you," she muttered, embarrassed.

"You are welcome. Tell me why you were staring?" he grinned knowingly.

"I was merely making sure that they didn't harm Thor."

Loki chuckled at her statement, shaking his head. "You, dear sister, are a horrible liar."

She glared at him from over her book. "Not everyone can be a talented silvertongue, dear brother."

"Tell me the truth then."

With a sigh, the Princess closed her book and placed it back on her lap. Leaning back she stared back down that the small group of warriors (and a future King) in training. "I… I asked Father if I could train beside Thor this morning, after morning's meal. He said… he said no." Odin's voice still rung angrily in her head. How could he yell at her? He's never yelled at her before.

"I cannot rely simply on the guards and you and Thor to always be there for me if I'm in trouble. I overheard far too many horror stories from the maids and cooks and guards, and I fear I might find myself in a situation such as them." She looked at her younger brother. "I simply want to learn how to protect myself! What if, what if a Frost Giant breaks through our walls and no one's there to protect me! You and Thor know ways to fight and kill – even Mother knows! I only know harmless spells that would have them fall over in laughter!" She lowered and shook her head. "Father… I can tell he simply wants me to stand there and look pretty – a harmless flower that needs protection." Her voice was lost to be a whisper of grief.

Loki looked at his saddened sister and best friend. He could see the tears gathering in her eyes and a frown tugging at her lips. Ever so gently, he placed his hands over hers. Their eyes locked when she raised her head. "Then he is missing a great warrior-to-be. You are more agile and intelligent than a certain rash blonde we both know very well. And if a Frost Giant should break through our defenses, I will be there for you – just as Thor would be. We love you very much. And," he whispered, "I could teach a few harmful spells in secret, if you'd like." He said earnestly, smiling. The Princess smiled in return, beaming. The tears never fell over her eyes.

"Thank you, Loki." She brushed her smooth hand against his face, fighting the urge to throw her arms around him. "You are always there for me when Thor is not. I am truly thankful to have you in my life, brother." Her hand pushed back some of his more stubborn hairs behind his ear.

"You are welcome." A smirk played on his lips. "Now give us a kiss." He jokingly leaned in closer, his hand holding her neck.

The Princess bopped her book on Loki's forehead, giggling. "Stop it."

...

A boy, just in his teens, dressed as a warrior in training, with tears of pain in his sky blue eyes ran down the long corridor. He kept his head down; if he walked fast enough and didn't make eye contact no one would see him. He cradled his right hand to his chest; hiding it with his left. His fingers were slightly curled and his entire right hand was burnt horribly; he nearly gagged at the smell of his burnt flesh.

Why? Oh, why did he do such a stupid thing?

Then Thor heard them. The sound of clicking heels and soft humming – his sister! He rushed down the hall, shouting for her. His sister would be best to see, not because she's closer. Loki would just continuously mock him for his act of stupidity.

"SISTER!" he bellowed effectively not chocking on his tears. He won't cry he was a man after all. Rounding a tight corner – and avoiding two guards – he saw his dear (younger) twin sister. Long, soft golden hair traveled down her back and over her small shoulders. Bright blue eyes stared curiously over her shoulder; long black lashes kiss rosy cheekbones as she blinked. A line presented itself between golden brows and her dainty nose scrunched up. Her back was to him, but he knew her small hands were folded over each other in front of her.

His name passed her pink lips, concern laced in the single word. As he grew closer, she turned to face him. He was right; her hands were folded over each other.

Once he was close enough – his toes touched hers through the navy blue and gold trimmed gown she wore – he revealed his burnt and blistered hand. With an irritated sigh, the Princess gingerly took his massive hand. Everything about her was small, delicate, and gentle; opposite of him – large, rugged, and rough.

"You tried to lift Mjölnir, didn't you?" she looked up at him through her lashes.

"Yes," he whimpered. "Please, do not tell Mother or Father."

"I won't."

A white glow, which emanated from her hands, enveloped Thor's injured hand. A gentle, cooling breeze left past the Princess's lips and joined the glow. His sniffles and whimpers (something he only does in front of his dear twin sister) slowly ceased as the cooling sensation dulled the ache to nothing. His back and shoulders relaxed at the cooling touch. He closed his eyes and smiled; feeling returned to his hand.

The breeze and glow slowly faded away.

"Better?" she asked, her fingers uncurling from his hand.

"Much. Thank you." He wrapped his growing arms around her thin waist, hugging her tightly. "You truly are the best sister anyone could have."

The Princess laughed, (weakly) hugging him back. "Thank you, Thor." (1)

...

The years of gods and goddesses slowly ticked away with each passing day. It was especially true for one goddess who simply learned how to be a proper princess; not being able to learn the ways of the blade or arrow or axe. True to his word Loki had taught her in secret; when all were asleep in their beds and Asgard was silent. Even so, his teachings were not enough for the Princess of Asgard. She desperately wished to fight with a blade alongside her brothers. Yet the AllFather forbid it. In spite of that, in spite of his wrath she may face if he found out, the Princess trained herself with a sword. It started out as such a simple task; go out in the dead of night when everyone was sleeping, go deep within the woods, and wield the blade at the beings she had conjured. It merely started with once a month, then twice, once a week, then twice. Now, nearly every night she when didn't learn and prefect a new spell, every night she goes out.

The Princess slowly opened one eye, searching the area of her chambers she could see from her laying position. Rolling onto her back, she opened the other. Rising into a sitting position, she looked around her empty room. No signs of maids or tricks. Slipping out of her bed and prancing to the door, she looked up and down the long corridor. Just before she began her adventure, she created a fake body of her on her bed. There wouldn't be any disasters while she's away, so long as she returns well before dawn.

Each step she took was light and soundless. The skirt of her light yellow night dress brushed against the cool stone floor. She hid behind thick tapestries and pillars upon hearing confident, patrolling footsteps. Her face often became flushed from the amount of excitement coursing through her veins. It was a wonder how no one can hear her heart pounding.

With great stealth and wits, the young maiden made to the stables. The giant horses did not neigh or kick at their stalls at the intruder; they merely fell back to sleep. All but one went back to sleep, a white and gray mare whose head poked out at the familiar scent. Much like the Princess, this gentle horse would never see the battlefield.

"Hello, friend." She whispered, petting her long face. "Are you ready to go?"

The mare snorted while nodding her head. Laughing softly, the Princess unlatched the door and led her large companion to saddle up. With quick, unshaken hands the mare was ready to ride out into the dark wood. The grass and rolling hills softened the galloping hooves.

The trees held many secrets. They had seen many things in their lifetime; far more than the gods and goddesses of Asgard. They knew where to find water, shade, food, mythical/powerful animals, and where the Princess trained herself. There were balls of elegant light that sat upon the branches above her; forming a nearly perfect circle of light. She glared at the person before her: a beautiful maiden with long blonde hair with a creamy complexion and bright blue eyes, a sword and shield in her hand. The Princess had long since abandoned her night dress and cloak; to change into leather pants, a tunic, heavy war boots, greaves, vambraces, and a shoulder guard. She wielded a heavy silver and black sword and matching shield.

Metal clashed against metal, swords and shields deflected numerous attacks. The real Princess of Asgard was able to swipe the clone's person, only to have the clone attack back. The pain wasn't unbearable; the clone's attacks simply burned the area. They fought until sweat dripped into her mouth and off of her brow and the muscles in her body ached terribly. The real Princess brought her sword up high above her head and swung down until—

"Sister?" A voice sounded outside the circle of lights.

The conjured person vanished and she sliced empty air; stumbling forward. She hesitantly looked to where the voice sounded. Seeing the silhouette her spine straightened and her heart pulsated erratically under her breast. Thor walked through the white light's line circle. His expression was accusing.

"What are you doing?" his eyes traveled up and down her form. She wasn't dressed in her normal clothes; gowns and frilly things. Why was she dressed in pants and armor?

She lowered her head in shame. "Training."

"Why?"

"So that I may fight alongside you and Loki and the Warriors Three, and that I may protect myself better."

"Does Father know?"

"No. I train in secret."

"I see."

A silence fell between them. The Princess glanced up her brother. They're so close; surely he won't tell their parents. He was oddly silent; she never knew him to be so quiet. Why was he being so quiet? She gently rubbed her chest, heart aching from beating so fast. Her entirely body trembled uncontrollably and the sword and shield laid forgotten on the forest floor.

"I may not be a complete expert with the way of the sword and shield; however, I will train you with them. You are my sister and the Princess of Asgard; you deserve to learn the way of the sword."

She could not believe her ears! Her brother was willing to teach her how to fight! With tears streaming down her face, she flung herself upon him. She tightly wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you," she whispered, "thank you so much, Thor." She kissed his cheek, but flinches at the sharp stubble meeting her soft lips. "Ow, you need to shave, brother." Still hanging from him, she gingerly rubbed her lips.

Thor's laugh was loud and boisterous; the Princess hung on for dear life as it shook her. His calloused hands lifted her high above him – she squealed out at the sudden action. Much like what Odin used to do to her when she was little; Thor spun her high above him laughing overcome with love for her. His love for her ran deep, though they were twins he was (and always will be) fiercely protective of her. No matter how many suitors flood to meet with her and attempt to court her, no man will ever be worthy of having her. Even if they could lift Mjölnir, they'd still be unworthy.

"Thor," she screeched, slapping his hand, "put me down, you oversized oaf!"

Even when she said things such as that, he would never stop loving her.

...

"Tonight," Odin's voice rang throughout the golden hall, draped in red, "we celebrate the birth of my two oldest children! My son and daughter, the Prince and Princess of Asgard!"

Roars and applause exploded through the hall. There were so many men and women in the palace to celebrate their birth; so many in fact that the Prince and Princess couldn't name them all. Lords and Ladies of this and that, they told each other. Surely, Thor wouldn't mind so much attention. Sadly, the Princess hardly left the palace walls; she's never seen so many people. Is their birth that important to everyone? Thor would become King and she'd marry to a Lord of sorts and be a Lady of this. Why must she attend?

Nonetheless, she smiles at the people. Her painted lips stretched far, revealing her white sparkling teeth and adding more color to her blushing cheeks. Just like her mother taught her, her delicate hands were folded in front of her and her back was straight with her shoulders back. A proud Princess of Asgard.

Frigga wished for her daughter to wear a color that matches Thor's cape. So, the young Princess of a few hundred or so years wears a red satin ball gown. The long satin sleeves are annoyingly tight and constricting around her arms. The golden studded belt seemed to restrict any deep breathes she wished to take. Her golden sandal-like high heeled shoes (oh, her poor feet shall not forgive that night), hide under the large skirt. True, she is used to being dressed up each and every day, but her mother and maids seemed to amp it up this night. All because it was her name day.

There she stood, beside her boisterous brother, smiling and thanking people she did not care to remember for their wonderful gifts.

The music was loud and delightful; it rang all throughout the palace in cheery tunes. She danced with many men that night – some old, most young, all loud and large. As she danced, so did everyone else. She caught glimpses of Thor's red cape swirling around and a pretty maiden in front of him. As much as she wished to, the Princess resisted rolling her eyes at him. She saw her Mother and Father dancing and talking to others. Unfortunately, her Little Loki was lost in the sea of smiling faces and dance partners.

Finally, after many attempts, she was able to flee the grand room. The Princess dramatically flung herself upon a bench, leaning against the railing beside it. The night air felt so good on her heated person.

So many people. There were so many people. Too many – talking about her and her brother and her soon-to-be title. Her head and ears ached at all the voices that surrounded her. Or it could be because of her wretched hairdo. She could still hear them amongst the music and Thor's laughter. He would always enjoy being the center of attention. As would she, if he wasn't such an arrogant bas—

"Pardon me, my Princess." A soft voice disturbed what little peace she had.

"Please," she begged, lifting her aching head, "I just wish to be—Loki?" she titled her head. Where has he been all night?

Her younger brother chuckled, coming to stand in front of her. "You wish to be me, sister? I'm flattered; although, I do not believe Asgard is ready for the two of us."

"Oh, hush," she lightly kicked his shin, "I merely wished to be alone for a while."

"Why is that?"

"Simply because I cannot take all of that," she gestured to the loud celebration.

"The people of Asgard are just overjoyed to have you and Thor in their lives."

Throwing her head back, the Princess made a very unladylike groan. "Ugh! That is beside the point, Loki. They come and talk to me as if we were friends our whole lives – I don't know any of them! Nor do I wish to."

People slowly began to trickle out of the palace – laughing and stumbling. Loki glanced at them and his sister. Should they hear her, through their drunken state, something would be said to the King about the Princess' negative behavior.

"Come," he said, gently grabbing her arm.

"No, Loki," she took her arm back, refusing to stand, "my feet hurt."

"Then take your shoes off."

"I cannot merely take off my—"

The look the young Prince gave her was frightening; thus, she took off her golden slippers and stood.

"Very good," he said, looping her arm around his. "Shall we be off?" Not waiting for a reply, he started walking down the steps that would lead them to the private gardens. She always loved walking the gardens. No one really bothered her there. Who would bother the Princess of Asgard when she was walking through the gardens?

Tonight, in light of the celebration, the gardens had balls of lights strung out through them. The fountains strategically scattered through it were bathed in light and flowing crystal clear water. The gardeners saw to it that the flowers would be in full bloom for this night. There were so many that were well known throughout Asgard. Their aroma was so sweet and alluring, the Princess never wanted to leave.

It was blissfully peaceful. No one was in the gardens but her and Loki. The others were too engulfed with the celebration of her and Thor's birth.

"You don't seem quite like yourself, dear sister." Loki's soft voice didn't break the tranquility she felt. "Is something wrong?"

_Something wrong? _

Everything was wrong! Heimdall told Odin and Frigga about her secret practices with her brothers, due to a scare, and then was cast to her chambers for weeks. She was to only come out for meals, even then no one dared to speak with her. They would feel Odin's wrath if they did. Thor's arrogance seemed to grow more and more with each passing day. Loki had been distancing himself from her and Thor, and he would not say why. Frigga kept pestering her with suitors. On top of all of that, the Princess had witnessed her lover's death – hanged. Although, no one knew of the man's special status to her he was just a mere stable boy. She could still feel his stubble against her cheek and his large, rough hands running down her slim back.

"No." she very easily lied. "Tell me, where are we going?"

"There." Loki pointed with his free hand to a white little open hut-like building, which was draped in deep red colors, flowers, and hanging lights.

She merely nodded her head.

His poor sister. The Princess of Asgard had fallen silent and Loki feared that she was falling to become a mute. Why? Why was his beloved sister acting this way? What Heimdall had done was to protect her! Those buffoons would have raped and killed her had Odin not shown up with an army of guards! Can she not see that?

Subconsciously his arms tensed at the thought.

"Loki," her voice cut through the air like a knife, "did you enchant this? I cannot hear the music." She asked once the stepped inside.

"Yes, I did. I thought you needed peace and quiet."

"Thank you." She slipped from him, choosing to sit on a bench.

She looked so sad and so lost, the young Prince had no thought of what to do. He had never seen her in such a state.

With a gentle twist of his hand, soft and slow music began to float around them.

"No," he said, making her stand again. Carefully, he took out the pins that were hidden in her hair. Lock after golden lock fell and framed her angelic face. The strands of satin gold and white beads softly fell to the floor.

"I refuse for this night to end without us dancing." His hands left her hair and he took hers; one hand on her waist, and the other gentle holding her hand up. She instinctively followed suit; one on his shoulder, and gently holding his hand in return.

"Very well, brother." With the tight hairdo undone and the soft music playing, her headache sluggishly went away. The pins, beads, and fabric that were in her hair lay forgotten behind her, in addition to her shoes.

They danced together to the peaceful tune. The loud and obnoxious sounds of the party were yards away and forbidden to enter their quiet world. It was moments like these that they loved; together and alone with each other. No one dared speak ill of them or mock them.

Loki gently spun her around, and with a small laugh she fell back into him. He closed his eyes and smiled. "Oh, how I have missed that sound." He whispered.

"What sound?"

"Your laugh." He looked down in her bright blue eyes. Dare he say he saw a sparkle of joy in them? "I haven't heard it in months."

She was the first to break it; she chose to stare at his chest. "A lot has happened, brother. So much so I'm nearly stunned by it."

Their dance came to a slow stop, but they refused to let go of each other.

"I fear that this celebration shows how much Thor and I have grown apart." She began to tremble. "I love Thor, honestly I do, and nothing will ever change that. But he's… changed. He's reckless. He's arrogant. I've tried for him to see that, but he remains clueless. He is not the brother who used to pick me up and carry me to the healers when I fell and skinned my knee. He is not the brother that would allow me to crawl into his bed, because I had a nightmare. He is not the brother who scares away strange men. He is not the brother who helped train me with a sword and shield. He's changed, Loki, and I hate it!" By now tears flowed down her cheeks; smearing her make-up that took hours to perfect.

"Sister," Loki cradled her sad face in his hands as if she were a porcelain doll. He gingerly wiped her continuous tears with his thumbs. Seeing her cry broke his heart.

"Why must things change? Why can't things simply stay as they are?" she demanded answers, which he could not give. For once, in his long life, he did not know what to tell her.

He kissed her forehead.

"I don't understand, Loki." She sobbed, grasping his hands.

It's too much. This change is too much. It felt as if her world was spinning out of control and everyone was leaving her.

Loki tightly wrapped his lean, strong arms around her shaking form. She attempted to bury herself in his chest; ignoring the armor on his person.

"You've changed as well, my Little Loki." she muttered, the tears won't stop. "You are constantly studying spells and potions and leaving me for your books. I remember when we used to ride out to the woods' edge and read for hours. You'd have your own book and I'd have mine. Your head would be on my lap as you read, and my fingers would brush through your hair as I read. Now we do none of that. I do not know what it is that you are studying, but must you do it every day?" she looked up at him. That sparkle Loki thought he saw was gone by now. The tears were streaming down her face in rivers. He had become a horrible brother.

"I am sorry," he whispered, nearly choking, thumbs wiping away her tears, "I am truly sorry. After this night, we will spend days together again. We will read together. We will play together. We will be together again. I promise." He pressed his lips against her forehead again.

The Princess shuddered in his arms; she believed his words. How could he lie to her with such promises – with such serenity in his eyes? The tears didn't seem to be overflowing her eyes now.

"And I swear," Loki continued voice hard as stone, "I will speak with Thor of his behavior. I will see to it that you and him, and all three of us, will spend days together."

Sometimes the second born wished that Loki was her twin. She often felt closer to Loki than to Thor. She and Thor may look alike, except their personalities are shockingly different. She often wished she could be as loud and as boisterous as him, though.

"Thank you," she whispered and kissed his smooth cheek. Weakly smiling, she rubbed off her lipstick that stained his pale cheek.

A smell, which was so subtle, grew around them. A smell which the Princess loved and adored for a long while now. Red blossoms took form from the gazebo's roof's edge, they hung all around them.

"Roses," she sighed, inhaling the sweet scent.

"They are your favorite, are they not?" Loki said as he watched a beautiful smile form on her lips. How he did miss that smile.

"Yes. Out of all the flowers I know, roses are my favorite." She walked over to a red blossom and cupped it between her hands – minding the thorns on the stem. "Though they reside on Midgard, I never tire of their fragrance." She gently sniffed the aroma; her smile seemed to widen.

"You are… happy, then?"

"Yes." She gazed at her beloved brother, hands folding in front of her.

"I am glad." He tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear. His hand lingered on her tear-stained cheek.

For a moment she saw her dearly loved stable boy; she brushed her lips against his palm.

"SISTER!"

With a startled gasp from both they tore away from each other. Thor's loud voice shattered the tranquility they had; the music and the laughter returned like an army. His cape was behind him as he ran up to the two, the silver on his armor delicately gleaming in the magical light.

"Thor?"

"Sister, come," he roughly grabbed her wrist and pulled back to the palace, "it is time for the cake."

She stumbled over her bare feet as he took her back. Must he be so rough? _Another change in him he_, she noted remorsefully.

"Have you shrunken, sister?" Thor asked as he pulled her along.

"No, you have merely grown." She lied smoothly; no need to know about her lack of shoes.

Loki watched his brother and sister return to the hall with a sigh. He would return her slippers to her and leave the hair dresses in her chambers, before returning to the party.

Once the first and second born entered the celebration hall, cheers and applause exploded all around them. Thor boasted and cheered along with them. His sister meekly nodded her head in thanks, heading to the oversized cake.

A small frown tugged at Frigga's lips upon seeing her daughter. "What happened to your hair?"

"Um," she glanced down briefly, "I had undone it due to a headache forming. I am sorry, Mother, but I couldn't take it."

The Queen smiled at her bashfulness. She smoothly brushed back the curls from her daughter's face, chuckling once they fell back into place. "Is it gone?"

"Yes, Mother."

Frigga nodded her head. Their attention went upon Thor as he thrusted the knife high above him. Odin shook his head at his eldest son's antics.

"As a wise man once said," he shouted, "let there be cake!" He turned back to face his sister, so that they may cut the cake together.

Over the course of the night, the Princess ignored the voices of the people she did not know. She smiled kindly and danced with many people – they all fluidly missed her bare feet. Loki seemed to have appeared out of thin air and rescued her; he lifted her up as the Princess she was and carried her to bed. They claimed she felt faint.

...

_Run._

She has to run!

_Hide._

She has to hide!

Swords clashed together and shields smacked against each other. Fire burned all around her, the dark blue sky was alight with the angry flames. Screams cut through the night air like an arrow. Decay and blood was strong in the crisp air. The monsters attacked out of nowhere and for no reason known to her.

Her brothers.

She needs to find her brothers!

"THOR! LOKI!" she screamed, running anywhere they might be. With her night dress torn above her knees, she ran faster than she ever had before.

Those who fought around her ignored her and were ignore by her. None of them were her brothers. She could see many injured and many die.

She screamed for them again. She ignored the flames licking at her skin and the burning inside her lungs. She needed to find them. Where were they?

The Princess nearly tripped when she turned a corner. She gasped, blue eyes widened in fright. Monsters from storybooks turned to her, their sharp and crooked yellow teeth dripped with blood. A body of a guard laid dead behind them. Their bulging eyes locked on her shaking and burned form. One, who was large and overly revolting, pointed at her. It gargled, "Her."

She fled, screaming louder and louder for her brothers. Tears and smoke were chocking her. She was going to die if they didn't come!

_A sword._

She needed a sword!

_Magic._

She could use her magic!

Thrusting her arm behind her, she shouted a spell and flames erupted from her hand. She shouted again and lightening shocked them. Nevertheless, she screamed for her brothers. Only they could protect her.

A dagger flew from the flames; lodging itself in her back. She yelped, but kept running. Her white satin night dress slowly gained the color red.

"THOR! LOKI!" her screams were getting desperate.

More monsters – cut and burned – surrounded her. Crying she shouted a spell; killing one with an ice dagger. She began to shout again, only a slimy and calloused hand clamped over her mouth. Its stench nearly made her faint. Its hands moved to her elbows and pulled her away. She screamed and screamed for her brothers. She could not cast spells if her arms were bound.

Over the roaring flames and helpless screams, she heard someone shout her name in the distance.

She saw her father, dressed in armor splattered with blood, riding Sleipnir toward them. The stallion's eight hooves made the ground quake. Odin's aged face was darkened and full of rage. Sleipnir looked as if he was raised from the underworld.

"DADDY!" she shouted. Surely if her brothers aren't here, Odin would save her. She screamed over and over again for her daddy. Each time it felt as if a knife twisted itself in Odin's chest. He would not lose his only daughter to these cretins.

The monster holding her grumbled something to his comrades. They grunted and nodded in understanding. All but one of them stayed behind to fight the King of Asgard and his steed.

"DADDY!" she screamed one last time before the two monsters walked through a portal of sorts. That would be the last time she saw her home and father how a long while.

As the swirling portal closed bit by bit Odin ran desperately to it, shouting her name again and again. His one eye was full of panic that only a parent knows. "NO!" with a last attempt, he leaped and skitted on the cold earth. He looked around helplessly, shouting for his daughter and for those monsters to show themselves to fight like real men.

No one answered him. Sleipnir snorted beside him, the monsters dead behind them.

The chaos that erupted that night slowly diminished into nothing. The flames were doused and the monsters were destroyed. Guards were posted at every door and patrolled the streets in groups of ten. No one, absolutely no one, spoke to the King and Queen of their lost child.

Thor demanded there be blood spilt. Lives for a life, he wanted war.

Loki wanted the same, although less animated about it.

Both were torn and hurt, however they demanded that their sister be saved. They could fight, they said. They _should_ fight! They would fight to bring her back home! The Warriors Three and Lady Sif stood by them; they'd fight for her too.

"No," Odin said and left for his chambers. His wife refused to leave her chambers; mourning the loss of her daughter.

They had their palace sorcerer create a potion, which was poured into the goblets of those who knew the Princess well. Expect the King and Queen and Heimdall. They drank it and over the night, the memories of the Princess faded away.

Thor did not have a younger twin sister whom he trained with a sword and shield. Nor would he remember those days of carrying her to the healers or her crawling into his bed due to a nightmare. They all faded away.

Loki did not have an older sister whom he trained with magic and read with. Nor would he remember those smiles and laughter he loved hearing after a prank he had done to a friend. They all faded away.

Lady Sif would not recall the night she fled to her friend and Princess, crying over the loss of her hair and how ugly the new color was. She would not remember the Princess' kind words on how lovely the ebony locks was and that she would pay a visit to Loki. Lady Sif would not know how many laughs and girlish giggles they shared. Her memories of the Princess faded away.

Volstagg would not remember all the delectable sweets the Princess would make. Nor would he remember telling her tales of his great heroism or the shine in her big blue eyes. He would not remember a gentle voice to tell the story again or him acting it out as he went. Those memories all faded away.

Fandral would not remember his shameless and harmless flirts with the Princess. He would not remember the little giggles and awkward flirts she gave in return. He would not remember her telling him that he must stop his antics if he wished for a suitable wife. Those memories of his Princess faded away.

Hogun would not remember his quiet friend sitting in the corner as he sharpened his blades. He would not remember the small smiles he received and gave in return; she would never boast of her "accomplishment" to anyone. That was why he respected her; she never boasted about anything. Those memories faded away.

The guards would not remember bell-like laughter ringing through the halls or gentle clicking of heeled shoes or her soft humming.

The townspeople forgot about her; she rarely made an appearance to them. They merely thought she was a ghost of sorts.

Odin and Frigga saw to it that her room be forbidden to anyone; fearing that if they saw it they'd remember. Although, some nights, one could hear sniffling and chocked sobs come from the Forbidden Room. Everything was as it used to be when she resided in it. The chair she always sat at for meals in the grand hall – next to Thor – was empty. It was an empty chair at a full table.

Without her, without the Princess of Asgard, the bond between Thor and Loki dwindled and shook. Many things have happened in those short years: Thor was banished to Midgard, Odin fell into sleep, Loki became King of Asgard, Loki told Thor their father was dead and he could never come back to Asgard, Thor did go back though, and, after an epic battle between two brothers, Loki "died." After another set of short years, Loki attempted to control Midgard. Only he was defeated by New York's Avengers: Iron Man, the Incredible Hulk, Captain America, Black Widow, Hawkeye, and Thor. There seemed to be nothing between the two of them now, and neither knew exactly why.

**A/N: So, how was it? Was it good for my first Avengers/Thor fanfic? Please, let me know what you think!**

**Key:**

(1) Okay, to be honest, this isn't completely mine. I was on Tumblr one day and saw a "Thorki" comic strip and I based this bit off of that. Only I replaced Loki with the Princess and did some minor changes. Thor attempting to lift Mjölnir and burning his hand and Loki healing it was the artist's idea. Unfortunately, I can't recall the artist's name and I hope he or she isn't offended that I more or less borrowed this. But please, if you'd like to see/read it I suggest going to Tumblr (or, now that I think about it, Google) go read it. Please, the art is very well done.


	2. Twenty-Five Years

**Twenty-Five Years**

"Oh my gawd! This is so good!" I say through a mouthful of greasy, delicious hotdog. My eyes roll into the back of my head and my eyes flutter in ecstasy. How long has it been since I had something so unhealthy and so good?

"How can you even eat that?" Madison asks besides me, skepticism drips from each word.

Swallowing the goodness that I have been deprived of for probably years, I glance at her with a cocky grin on my glossy lips. "Easy," I say, lifting the hotdog to my lips, "like this! Omnononom." I bite off another large chuck of the hotdog, moaning.

"That's not what I meant, smartass. I meant how can you eat a hotdog that has mustard-"

I cut her off. "They're _supposed_ to!"

"Not what I'm getting at, Tessa. It has mustard _and_ ketchup _and_ freakin' relish! Plus,"

I lick my lips, catching a bit of the odd mixture she stated, and look at her once she pauses. Her hazel eyes scan over the crowded sidewalk.

"You got it from a New York sidewalk vendor." Her concerned whisper is nearly lost with the chaos surrounding us.

"So?" I take another bite, being less animated about it.

"So, who knows where it's been! Flies could've crawled over it, he could've sneezed or coughed on it, or-or others could've touched it. And God knows where _those_ people have been."

I roll my eyes at her. "You and I both know that my immune system is kickass. I'm absolutely positive that I won't get sick."

"Okay, but what about your diet?"

There's a brief pause as I eat my hotdog. "Not on it anymore," I say once I can talk through the food. I swallow. "'Sides, I won't be working for awhile with this," I raise my bandaged arm, "thing. Not many directors and movie producers want that. You know, we have to extremely and oddly beautiful. Ugly scars really take away from that. Gawd, I need a Dr. Pepper." I walk on my toes to gaze over the heads of people; hoping to see another vendor.

"Couldn't you wear long sleeves? And that's from the thing you're eating."

"I know. And no, I can't; my boobs are too big." I finish the last bite of my hotdog, crumbling the wax paper.

She lets out an exasperated sigh and shakes her head. "I've known you all our lives and that is your excuse for not wearing them. Yet, you wear them when you're a "different person" and your signature red trench coat."

"'Cause they customize them for me! Normal mall clothes make me look like… like… horrible! As for my coat, I look good in that." I dramatically flip my hair over my shoulder.

Madison smirks at my reasoning, rolling her eyes at me. "Whatever. You want that soda of yours?" she asks once we near another vendor.

"Yeah. You want anything?" I ask, taking out my blue clip-wallet. The large red Superman 'S' stands out against Superman's shade of blue.

"Sure, but I'm buying it." She fishes out her own wallet. It's a long, clip hot pink and black Hello Kitty wallet.

"Fine." I groan, knowing it's not possible to argue with her. Even though I make more than enough for the both of us to be living on our own in New York City she always refuses to accept my money. Including the times where our rent is due. I guess I should consider myself lucky for having a (non-famous) friend like her. How much does a part-time baker and part-time janitor make anyway?

"I'll take a Diet Coke, please." Madison hands over her money as the dark skinned man gives her, her soda.

"And I'll take a regular Dr. Pepper." I chirp, bouncing on the balls of my feet. I'm always eager to drink my favorite soft drink.

"Hey," he shouts, pointing at me and eyes beaming, "you're Tessa Maberry!"

My instinctive fake smile stretches across my lips and my eyes shine. "That would be me."

"Oh my God, can I get your picture?" he's nearly trembling.

"How 'bout this," I step closer, fake smile still in place, "we trade. Your Dr. Pepper for our picture together and the amount I owe you?"

"Deal!" he hands me my soda and he takes out his cell; I hand him the amount I owe.

"Madison," I turn to her, deeply apologetic. This wasn't what I thought of when we agreed to walk around and talk. Maybe we should've stayed home and watched chic-flicks. "Do you mind?" I smile sheepishly. By now people of various ages and races are circling around us; taking their own pictures of me.

She screws her soda bottle's cap back, while shaking her head. "Not at all." Taking the cell phone from the jittery man's fingers, she tells us to smile as I lean close to the vendor man. He smells odd.

People often said my smile is worth a million dollars and is sometimes blinding. For a random pose, I hold up my beverage. There's a flash of light, followed by a soft click. Madison shows us the picture. "Like it?"

The man's smile is wide and beaming, teeth slightly crooked and he has noticeable dimples. Black hair held back in dreads with colorful beads at the end. His shirt is loose, short-sleeved, and bright orange with a smiley face wearing sunglasses. His thumbs are up, showing his white sweat wrist bands. His chocolate brown eyes are just as bright as his smile.

My smile is as it always has been; white and beautiful. My thick blonde hair is over my shoulders, one side is tucked behind my studded ear; showing my silver angel wing and diamond earring. My silver short-sleeved shirt hugs my torso with a modest scoop. Without me being behind a high counter, people can see my navy blue skinny jeans. No one would even tell how I feel in that frozen moment; my bright blue eyes are glimmering with joy.

"Yeah," he says, "it's perfect! Thank you." He smiles down at me.

I shake my head. "No problem. Thanks, for the soda." I smile, gently waving my drink.

"Welcome!"

Madison and I give one last smile before quickly leaving the scene. Handing my drink to Madison, I fish out my oversized sunglasses. Like a Hollywood movie star, I flip open the temples (sides of the glasses) and slide them on my face. "I can't believe this," I mutter.

My lifelong friend hands me back my drink. It creates a soft hiss once I open it. After a delicious sip of the overly carbonated drink, I look at her. "I am so sorry, Madi." She can't tell now through the dark lenses, but my eyes can show how sorry I am.

"I know." She gently hits my bicep, chuckling. "You can't help how famous you are, nor can you blame your fans for wanting a picture of you."

I sling my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "I love you, you know that?"

"Yeah, I do."

She doesn't shrug off my arm. I do step a little bit away, so we can walk without tripping over each other. The people around us can no longer see my face in its entirety; therefore, they don't stop us and ask for my picture. They just go about their normal business – laughing, smiling, joking, holding hands, and looking at the sights. No even pays mind to the fact that it's gray out and someone's wearing sunglasses.

"Do you think it's gonna rain?" Madison looks up at the sky, there's a small inkling of fear across her face. Her fear of thunder and lightning getting the best of her, she steps closer to me.

We pause in our walk, both looking up, letting the other pedestrians walk by us in a blur. Past the high buildings and haze of smoke, there's a gray sky with a passing of white clouds. I raise a brow and my lips remain in a line.

"I don't know." I say. "The weather's been like this since that alien attack. What was it? Three months ago?" Looking at her I see her nod. "There hasn't been a bad thunderstorm yet, I think. Just light rain and gray skies. Hm, I wonder if it's like this everywhere."

"Then can we go back home and watch those movies? I don't wanna be caught in the rain." We continue our walk, shoulders bumping with other shoulders. I keep a tight grip on my bag and eye the people that walk past.

"Sure."

I elbow our way through the mass of people, ignoring the grunts and angered shouts. Madison raises her arm shouting for a taxi, while I take a gulp of my soda and washing the taste of the hotdog out of my mouth. I watch as each yellow and black car drives by and my friend become more and more irritated. She starts to wave her hand around frantically, shouting more and more. She yells in frustration once another one goes by. She takes a swig of her soda. How is it that no one would pick her up?

Looking her up and down, I see nothing wrong. Pixie cut brown hair with a hot pink streak on the left side of her hair, which surrounds an oval shaped face with minimum amount of make-up (courtesy of yours truly) to show her natural beauty. She's dressed in a rosy brown floral shirt, a dark brown skirt that falls to her knees, and wedges. There's nothing particularly wrong with her, or her outfit.

"That's it!" she shouts, flailing her arms up, and stomps back to me. "I give up!"

Chuckling, I hand her my drink. "Let me try."

She grumbles something I can't exactly understand, but takes my soda nonetheless.

I stand near the curb and watch the cars pass. Quickly, I stick my middle finger and thumb into my mouth and let out a sharp whistle. After which I shout, raising my arm in the air, "HEY, YO, TAXI!"

Three taxi cabs stop in front of me. They all shout at one another, yelling profanities, honking their horns.

I try my best not to laugh or blush at the sight I created.

"Ooh," Madison sticks her finger on my shoulder and quickly recoils it, letting out a mock "heat hiss." "The girl is hot!"

Laughing to ease the awkward, we enter the taxi closest to us. Madison tells him the address and we're soon off. Throughout the entire ride we're silent, only to answer the few questions the taxi driver asks, and I keep my sunglasses on. I look out at all the people and buildings.

I wonder how many of them are without homes and how many of them lost someone during the attack. What was that oddly human-looking alien's motive anyway? What was the point of even attempting to taking over New York and, without a doubt, the world? My arm and hips just hurt thinking about the incident.

At least the Avengers were there. It's hard to believe that there are superheroes out there (the ones that actually wear capes and have secret identities) and are willing to risk their lives for people they don't even know. A part of me can't even believe Tony Stark is one of them; him being an egotistical, playboy jerk and all.

I really should do something nice for him and the rest of the Avengers. Maybe I could bake something? I'll give them to Stark to share with the rest. That sounds like a good plan. I could help rebuild Manhattan, too. I've been putting my money to some charities, why not something similar? Yeah, I'll do that too.

"Tessa," something cold and wet is pressed against my arm.

"Yipe!" I jerk my arm away and rub the area, glaring at my friend.

She smiles cheekily and tells me we're home, and that she already paid. Sighing I hand the cab driver a ridiculous tip once she's out. Honestly, whatever happened to us splitting stuff?

"So," I begin, tugging off my boots with my feet at the doorway, "what movies do you wanna watch?" I kick them away and go back into my room to put on more comfortable pants.

"I dunno, what haven't we seen in a while?"

My bare feet don't make much sound on the wooden hall floor as I make my way back, changed into short black yoga pants. My sunglasses back inside my purse and my earrings are back in my jewelry box, which are in my room. I slide my finger across my iPhone, looking through my contacts to order pizza. I've been strangely hungry lately. "Something funny, that's for sure. Lately we've been watching movies like _The Notebook_ or _Titanic_. I can't take that much crying anymore." I flop down on our overstuffed, yet very comfortable sofa and place my Dr. Pepper on a coaster in front of me.

"Okay…," she looks through our movie library, "how about…. Oh! _Underworld_!" she holds up our _Underworld Trilogy _DVD set. "It's full of real, non-sparkling vampires and real, kickass werewolves." She sings, waving the movie.

I smile, already liking the idea. "Yeah. Let's order some pizza and then pop in some popcorn. Do you want the usual?"

"Yep!"

I finally find the number to our favorite pizza place. "Yes, hi. I'd like to place an order for," I tell him our address, noting how disappointed his tone changed once he realized it's outside the city.

"Alright, what would you like?"

"I'd like one large plain pizza and another large cheese-steak pizza, each with a side of crispy fries. Cheese on the side for them. Nothing to drink."

He replays my order, checking to make sure he's gotten everything.

I nod, even though he can't see it. "Yes, that's right."

"Okay, that'll be twenty-five seventy and it'll be there in an hour and a half."

"Thanks." I cancel the call and look up at Madison. "I'm paying and we got an hour and a half." Since she paid for the drive here, I'm paying for our dinner.

"Cool," she flops down next to me, taking a big gulp of her Diet Coke. After a small burp she asks, "What are your plans now that you're on hiatus?"

I frown, looking down at my arm. "I was thinking about helping Manhattan in its rebuilding and maybe do something nice for the Avengers. It sucks that I can't really work with this lovely forming scar on my arm. Hopefully, it'll heal fast and I can go back to acting. It feels like I just started my career, too." I pout at her and try to ease the pain with a gulp of my drink.

"That's 'cause you did – five years ago."

We spill into a long conversation much like we always do. This time, instead of each of us ranting about a co-workers or our boss, we talk about how much our lives have changed in the short of five years. We moved to New York four and a half years ago, each with our own set of goals. With a motivation that broke my heart, I was able to land a role that jumpstarted my acting career and was soon the most sought out for fantasy, assassin, and mage-like roles. Madison is still fighting to achieve hers.

**~ Asgard ~**

Another day passes in Asgard. The sun slowly sinks behind the tall, pale buildings and mountain line. The sky is painted in reds, oranges, and shapes of pink and purple. Only it holds no glory for the King and Queen of this realm. It was lost years ago.

Frigga stands in the Forbidden Room gently holding her lost daughter's favorite princess doll. The one Odin got for her many centuries ago when he came back home. Its hair is long and golden, braided over her shoulder, with pale colored flowers braided into it. The dress it wears is a beautiful wedding gown fit for royalty; dressed in ivory and gold. A tiara sits on its head, fake stones shine dully in the sunset, and a sheer white veil cascades down behind it. Its eyes are a deep blue and its make-up is notable but pretty.

The Queen drops to her knees beside the bed and holds the soft doll to her breast. Tears drop from her eyes and onto her dress. Frigga misses her only daughter so much! Her heart cracks and breaks each day she isn't found. Those monsters were slaughtered long ago; however, it could not bring the Princess back. They never speak her name; fearing it will bring back those sweet (and bitter) memories to everyone that was given the potion. Just as they have no one enter this room. There are too many memories.

Frigga remembers those precious times when she found her daughter and Loki playing chess in this room or reading peacefully together with the weather was not in their favor. She found Thor consoling the young Princess after an incident they would not share – a twin's secret they said. She remembers how her daughter would cry at night when she was a baby and would come in to give her peace. Odin often rocked their daughter to sleep in this room. She can still see him sitting by the fireplace, rocking back and forth, and hear him gently humming a song.

_How different would our lives be if she were still here?_ Frigga always found a way to think that thought, ever since…. Ever since with what happened with Loki. Would her daughter have been able to calm him like she always had and avoid such devastations? Would she have been able to talk Thor out of going to Jotunheim? Surely, she would have.

"Frigga," Odin silently shuts the door behind him and walks up to his crying wife. Crouching down, he cradles her tear-stained face with his rough hands. "What ails you?"

Such a silly question, for they both know what is wrong and what always will be wrong.

"How long must we wait, Odin? How long must we bare the ache that is inside our hearts and souls? It has been too long and I fear my heart cannot take much more of this pain." Her throat is clenched, tight with tears.

The King gingerly wipes his thumbs across her soft cheeks. "You know as well as I do that our daughter still lives. Remember, when you came to me the day our soldiers were about to give up the search? You said you could feel it in your soul that she is alive and that we mustn't give up, for our beloved daughter and Princess is out there. Somewhere." He kisses her forehead, before continuing. "I feel it, too. I have felt that connection for twenty-five years now. Our daughter, and Princess, is alive and she will return to us and be with us once again."

The tears are now slowly trekking down her face. "How much longer must we wait, though? I grow restless with each passing day, fearing the worst of what has come to pass."

Odin shakes his head. "I do not know, dear wife of mine. The realms are a large place to search and require much attention. Our men do their best to search for our daughter and their lost Princess of Asgard. We can only hope and pray that she is well – wherever she is."

Together they stand, holding the other's hand. Frigga gently places the doll down exactly as she had found it – on the bed, resting against the plush pillows. They are carefully as the walk across the rugs; carefully not to bring anything out of place. For this room is frozen in a memory for them, and if that memory is carelessly ruined then… what else would they have of their daughter?


	3. Gentle Voice

**A/N:**** I'd just like to start off by thanking all the follower e-mails I've gotten for this story: charinjon, SilverPoisons, TheImaginativeOne, and Foxface27. Thank you, you guys. ^-^ It makes me very happy to see those e-mails saying that people are favoring and subsribing something that's so different that I'm used to writing.**

**Anyway, I just wanted to update this story before going off to work (and in this unGodly heat/humidity).  
Please enjoy, and please review.**

**Gentle Voice**

Rock music greets my ears. I groan and rub my eyes, trying to will the sleep away. The rock music seems to grow louder as I fully wake up. Blinking at the white words scrolling down on the black screen, I turn my attention to the other occupant curled up on the sofa. I gently nudge her with my foot.

"Hey," my voice is laced with sleep. Rolling onto my back, I rub my eyes; lifting the haze around me. "Madi, you awake?"

She groans, rolling away from the TV.

I roll my eyes back to our coffee table and look at the two empty boxes of pizza and empty bag of fries. I literally fall off our couch with a grunt. My knees crack as I get up. Placing my hands on my lower back I crack my spine. Once I my joints are able to move and the tingle feeling my legs go away, I walk down the dark fall with one thought in my mind.

_Bathroom._

I had way too much soda the last few hours and, not wanting to miss a thing of _Underworld_, I fell asleep with a full bladder. Not a good idea. Thankfully, nothing too bad happened. Flicking on the bathroom light, I'm briefly blinded.

After relieving myself, I walk back to the dark living room the TV the only source of light and sound. I let out a soft yelp of surprise when my foot comes in contact with something smooth and round. Gently kicking the random wine bottle away I walk back to the sofa.

_When was wine brought into the picture?_ Not thinking of an answer, search the coffee table for the remote.

"Aha!" Lifting the DVD remote controller, I stop the end credits and back to the Main Menu. I smile at the sight of the hotness that is Lucian, the music softer now. He's a lean, muscular man with long dark hair and matching scruff – plus his endearing personality: loyal and protective. Shame he's not real.

I turn my attention back to Madison, whose sleeping peacefully. Knowing she'll ache in the morning, I turn her onto her back. Ignoring her sleepy groans, I tuck my arms under her upper back and knees. I carry her back to her room.

Flopping her down on her bed I take off her shoes and carefully pull the covers down for her to sleep under, muttering under my breath as I do so.

"You better appreciate this; otherwise, I'm leaving you on the couch next time."

After closing her blinds, I walk back to the living room. I won't be able to sleep if I know it's a mess. Sometimes I wish I could just call room service or something so they'll clean it up. Pity I wasn't born a princess of something somewhere.

Not wanting to wake my friend up (she's a real bitch and a half when she just wakes up), I keep the main ceiling light off and continue to use the TV for the light source and background noise. The left over cheese in the pizza boxes are cold, hard, and glued to the cardboard, so is the dipping cheese for our once there fries. Our bottles of soda have nothing in them, and the mysterious wine bottle is empty as well. Looks like Madi is going to work with a hangover tomorrow. Hopefully, her boss isn't a complete douche bag.

By the time everything is out – either in the trash or recycling – my bandaged arm is sore. Turning off the television, finally, I walk into the bathroom. This time I'm not blinded by the bright white lights. Briefly, I look in the mirror to see what the couch has done to me. My make-up is smudged around my eyes and bits of my blonde hair are sticking out at odd angles. I wash my face with a warm, clean washcloth coated with soap to rid myself of these raccoon eyes. Carefully, I rinse the soapy water from my face and dry it. I quickly brush my hair; my arm slowly begins to gain a pulse in it. I throw my long locks into a low ponytail, before unwrapping my right forearm. The white bandages fall onto the counter top and I'm met with an ugly wound that will scar. The start of it is in the middle, but the tear runs down to my elbow. Droplets of red bead to the surface of the scabbing. I run my arm under the warm water spewing out of the faucet, and dry it with the towel. The doctors told me that continuously cleaning it will reduce the risk of infection and scarring and promote healing. I haven't gotten an infection and it's healing, but with how large it is I'm afraid my career as an actress is over. No amount of body make-up can hide this!

_Stupid alien attack._

I was at the wrong place at the wrong time, as most people say. The attack was essentially over, but the aftershocks and lower criminals wanted some "free" stuff. Being the good civilian I am, I tried to stop a small group of them from taking electronically devices. The policemen and firemen were already so busy with more important things; I didn't see the need to call for help. I confronted them in the middle of the empty street. The largest man out of all of them punched my jaw; sending me flying back into the building behind me. I blacked out when my head hit something too solid.

When I woke-up, I was pinned under cement and rubble. Laying on my side with my right arm stretched out in front of me; caused my hips and legs to badly bruise and for me to seeing a pole penetrating my arm and the sharp edge of cement rock running down my arm. The sight, amount of blood pouring from the area, and the immense amount of pain caused me to scream so loud I'm sure some poor old people had a heart attack.

I can still hear the sound of rushing footsteps sprinting towards me. _"Ma'am, are you alright?" _his voice was so kind and caring I couldn't bring myself to yell at him.

I did groan though. _"I'm still alive, aren't I?" _

He let out a small laugh, sound of the rocks and metal moving above me. _"Judging that you're talking and holding a conversation, I'd say you are."_

I'd let out a yelp when the pole was removed from my arm. _"Shit!" _I hissed.

"_Are you all right?" _A different, Shakespearian voice sounded in front of me.

I was able to jerk my arm back once the cement on it was removed; I cradled it to my chest. _"Uh-hum." _Even though they couldn't see me, I nodded.

I couldn't see for a minute or two with the afternoon sun blazing down on me. The men that had helped me got the last few large bits of the building off my person. Large rough hands slowly lifted me up. I could tell he was being exceedingly gentle with me. Through the haze that shrouded me, I could hear a very familiar voice talking to someone and that someone not replying. A phone conversation?

"_Are you able to walk, mi'Lady?" _the Shakespeare voice again.

I slowly blink my eyes; gaining the ability to see again. I place my uninjured arm on his shoulder for support and take a step forward. My legs gave out and my teeth clenched at the amount of blinding pain shooting up from them.

"_No," _I whimpered.

The large man, whose face I have yet to meet, lifts me up – his arm under my legs and under my upper back. He carries me across the street and into a… shawarma restaurant? That was where I met the Avengers for the first time (aside from Stark). They'd bandaged my arm and let me wait for the ambulance to show up; whom Stark was talking to when I was pulled out of the rubble.

After popping two pain pills and washing it back with tap water, I throw the used towel and wash cloth into the hamper. I let my arm breath for tonight; deciding it'd be best if I do. The bruises and cuts have long since disappeared and my legs and hips can handle walking again. Now if only the one on my arm would go away!

Laying in my bed, I look up at my arm. I visited the doctors a few weeks ago and he said was healing surprisingly fast and well; the pole created a deep wound and the doctors thought it would've taken years to fully heal. Then, it was months. Now, it'll only be a few weeks. Personally, I don't see it. All I see is an ugly scar that could have me working for my parents again back in New Jersey.

I love my parents with all that I am, and I love working on our family farm. However, I love pretending/acting more. I love pretending to be someone and something that I'm not, living somewhere that doesn't exist in this world. I can be a princess, an assassin, an elf, someone from a different time, a space traveler, and so much more! My parents always told that from the moment they held me they knew I was going to do great things. Something tells me that working on a farm with horses, goats, pigs, and chickens isn't exactly greatness.

I flop my arm back down to my side and stare blankly at my star-glowing ceiling. Madison may hate thunderstorms, but I hate the dark. I hate not being able to find a small inkling amount of light in pitch black darkness. When I was growing up, and kids my age were throwing away their nightlights, I tried to get over my fear.

I couldn't. Thankfully, no one thinks twice about glow in the dark stars on someone's ceiling. They all just think they're there for decoration. As a song enters my head, the words missing, but the gently tune humming in my head, my eyes close. I'm a little girl again. I can hear my dad humming softly and his steady heartbeat in my ear. I can feel the warmth of his hands cradling me close. We're rocking back and forth on the rickety rocking chair. The lullaby and the memories, lull me to a sleepless slumber.

**~ Asgard ~**

Thor remains seated in the dining hall alone. Last meal has ended several hours ago and thus his friends and parents left to retire to their beds. The servants clean the empty plates and full table around him, some eye the Prince of Asgard but go about their duties. He remains seated in his chair with a blank, concentrating look on his face, staring at the one seat that has been forever empty beside him. He has not asked why no one ever sits beside him or why no one is allowed to sit near him. It simply has always been empty, even when he was a small lad. There are no plates or goblets before this chair, nor has there ever been, yet it remains out. As if it was waiting for someone to sit within it.

If he closes his eyes, Thor can see and hear someone sitting next to him. Amongst the many voices and differing laughter, he can hear a soft and gentle voice as sweet as honey. He can't see her face, just her silhouette. Her voice is so soft; he can barely hear it as he eats. Once the meals are over, he can hear her as if the meals are still going on. She laughs and talks to someone around her, her words are lost to him though. They fall from her lips, but he can't understand them. All he knows is that, the sound and tone are oddly familiar to him.

"Mi'Lord," asks a servant, disturbing Thor's moment of thought. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Thor says his voice a deep rumble, opening his eyes. "Leave me, so that I may think."

"Of course." The servant bows at the waist and the rest take their leave. The massive double doors shut with a gentle click.

The voice has not stopped speaking. Thor knows that this mysterious being is a woman; the soft voice and how sweet it sounds. No man is able to have such a voice. And no man's voice is able to have such a warmth blossom in his chest and spread throughout his body. No man can have such a dainty silhouette. And no man's form can make Thor fiercely protective.

"_Thor!"_ the voice sounds far away from the dining hall. _"Thor Odinson!"_ It's so musical; the voice, the gentle laughter.

In the dark corners of his mind, Thor knows this voice. He can hear and understand her now. But where has he heard her before? Why is it so familiar to him?

Thor stands abruptly causing the chair to spill over behind him. His eyes jerk this way and that, trying to find the maiden.

"_Thor!"_ She's right outside the double doors.

He runs quickly to the double doors, throwing them open. He's met with empty air. Standing tall, he enters the empty hall. His brows are knitted together and a frown tugs at his lips as he looks down that corridor.

"What jest is this," he growls, eyes blazing. "Who are you? Show yourself!" he demands.

There's a giggle down a ways. _"Come along now, Thor! Before someone sees us."_

"STOP!" Thor runs down the hall, shouting at the person he cannot see. She says his name again when he stops at the palace's threshold, begging him to hurry. With a growl, Thor bellows down the steps and runs over the grassy hills ordering whoever is there to stop. Perhaps it would've been best if he gotten a horse beforehand.

"_Thor!" _the maiden cries within the dark woods. By now, the sun has fully fallen and Thor's left standing in the dark. _"Thor?"_

The Prince of Asgard has never known the meaning of the word "fear." Now, a strange sensation bubbles in his core. He… fears that this maiden (whom he has never met or heard of) has been hurt and is somehow calling out to him. Thor passes the bushes and trees, his eyes sweep over what they can in the darkness. One hand brushes over leaves and bark, while the other waves out before him. If need be, he'll summon Mjölnir and slay any beast that dare crosses him. The woods and these actions are familiar to him somehow. The dark corners of his mind are slowly being dusted of cobwebs and light seeps through cracks of steel.

"_Thor?" _she weakly calls out, once he's standing in a circular clearing. The maiden is right beside him now; he can sense it. Feel it. _"Thor, are you here?"_

"Yes," his voice is soft now as he stares at the empty space before him. "I am here. Do not worry, mi'Lady." A small, smooth hand slips into his. He gently squeezes it in reassurance.

"_You won't leave me, will you?"_

Something within him tells him—yells at him, to protect her. "I will never leave you."

He can't see her, but he knows she's smiling.

"THOR!"

The corner of his mind is quickly shut off again; flooding with darkness and the spiders return to rebuild their homes. The maiden's silhouette shatters to fine empty air and the hand within his melts away.  
Guards, the Warriors Three, and Lady Sif stand behind him with their weapons drawn. They look around the clearing with calculating eyes.

"We heard you shouting at someone," says Fandral, stepping up to his friend. "Is something wrong?"

_He shouldn't be here. None of them should. _A voice whispers to him.

"No," Thor cannot tell anyone about the voice he's been hearing. "Everything is all right."

"Are you sure?" Sif asks, concern laced in her big brown eyes.

"Yes, you may return to your quarters and rest. I am deeply sorry for disturbing everyone."

Slowly, almost unsure, everyone returns to the castle; leaving their Prince a beat behind.

Thor looks around the clearing. He can see balls of white light within the trees and bushes. He can hear the sounds of metal clashing and pained grunts. He can see her silhouette again; she twirls and slashes her sword down and blocks an incoming attack. This is all so familiar, yet Thor cannot remember it entirely.

Déjà vu, Midgardians call it.


	4. Soft Touch

**A/N:**** I'd like to take this time to thank a few new followers: Allanna Stone, Kuro Neko to Kuro Bara, and sieni1. Each time I get a new follower I smile a little bit. It's always a pleasure to recieve e-mails such as them, espiecally since this story is something completely different for me. Thank you to all of you (and those previously mentioned) and to my readers.  
Thank you; it makes me feel like I'm doing something right.**

****Fair warning, Tessa will start using adult lanuage. If you find it offensive just remember that others do use this type of lanuage; me included.** This is why _PoA_ is rated 'M'.**

**Soft Touch**

The one bad thing about living so far out from the city, and having neighbors that have trees, are the annoying, singing birds! Seriously, how's a woman my age suppose to enjoy her day off and catch up on her beauty sleep? No matter how hard you beg, plead, kick and scream, or pray, they won't stop conversing. It's downright infuriating! With all their annoying "tweet this" and "tweet that" it's a wonder how they haven't discovered Twitter. I'm always tempted to borrow Dad's or Uncle Pete's bee-bee gun and shoot at the trees. Sadly, that would make me look like a hypocrite for harming animals.

Groaning like a five year old, I throw the covers over my head and roll away from the window. I forgot to close the blinds last night. Something only someone who (me) did a nice thing for a friend (Madison) would do. I knew I should've left Madi on the couch last night. I'd let the rising sun and the stupid birds be her alarm clock.

I can already hear her shuffle about outside my room, cleaning up what I missed in the dim lighting and throwing away the trash it sounds like. Then, she'll go to work – either for Sweety's Bakery or Stark Industries. I can't remember which it is today. Either way, her boss will be a jerk. Despite Shawn's last name being "Sweety" he leaves a sour taste in your mouth. His treats are sweet though, that's a plus.

My door creaks as it opens. Something falls and Madi swears, before fumbling with something and placing it on the end table near my bed. My door creaks again.

"Leave it," I grunt.

Madi mumbles an apology.

I shake my head, kicking off my blankets. "Don't be sorry, those damn birds woke me up before you got the chance to." My bare feet come in contact with plush carpeting. "What are you doing in my room anyway?" though I'm sitting up, I refuse to fully get out of bed.

"Returning your cell." Madi points to my Captain America cased phone. "You left it in the living room. Your arm is looking a lot better."

Looking down, I see that she's right. Instead of a shallow groove, which was there last night when I cleaned it, the scabbing is now level with my skin. Still ugly as shit, but it's healing surprisingly wonderful. "Thanks…."

_I wonder how this is happening. My immune system must be feeling extra kickass. _

"Hey," I call out, stumbling over my feet to my door, "where are you working today?"

"Cleaning up after Stark," Madi groans in the kitchen. "Why didn't you save me any pizza?" she shouts upon opening our overly stuffed fridge.

I find my footing and walk down the short hall. "'Cause I didn't know I'd be that hungry."

"You even ate all the fries!"

"You had some!" I flop down in our Lazy Boy recliner, curling up and turning on the TV. I instantly change it to TBS, watching a _Marvel_ movie.

"Yeah, 'some' is being the key word there."

"Smartass."

Madi sighs, rummaging through cupboards and the fridge. "I guess I can make something. You think you can manage making lunch and dinner?"

"Sure thing. I can't grantee it'll be on time though. Once I'm awake and can walk without stumbling over my two feet, I'm going out. I'll probably eat out." I rest my head in my hand, staring at her back. She's already dressed in her janitor's uniform. One of these days she'll create something worth Stark's while.

"Okay," she gets her lunch box and purse. "I'm off. Try not to destroy the place while I'm gone."

"Damn, there go my plans!" I say sarcastically, turning to watch _Spiderman_.

"Bye~!" she calls, closing the door.

"Bye." I grunt, eyes watching the screen. The first commercial comes on and I quickly get a box of chocolate poptarts to eat as I watch.

The sound of a vehicle rumbles down the road – a taxi no doubt. We (stupidly) walked all day yesterday. Surprisingly, my legs aren't that sore though. I guess all those years working on a farm and riding horses paid off in the long run. I hope Madi will be okay today; walking around and cleaning all day must be very hurtful to her legs. _Well, at least they'll be good looking._

I chuckle at the thought; knowing it's true.

After watching the first _Spiderman_ movie in its entirety, I go get dressed. Even being home alone, I keep my door shut and blinds down. I feel like someone's always looking at me – searching for me – as of late. I told Madi this once and she told me I was A) being paranoid and B) I'm famous now, it's natural.

"It doesn't mean I have to like it," I say to myself, just like I told her.

Dressed in my black Victoria Beckham denim skinny jeans and black Jane Norman scoop neck top I search for something that won't make me so depressed looking. My (signature and favorite) red Nic+Zoe trench coat is hanging on the back of my door, and my black leather Giuseppe Zanotti over the knee boots are standing by my door. If I'm going to go out into the city, I wanna look good as I walk around.

"C'mon, where are you, you lil' shit?" I crawl along my floor, searching under my bed. I swing my arms back and forth; pushing away old scripts that I was allowed to keep, dusty movies and trinkets, a book about Norse mythology, and a bag of old and dated cell phones.

"Really?" I screech, holding up a picture of me and my old (jerk of a) boyfriend, "I have a picture of you, but I can't find my belt?" I toss it over my shoulder, ignoring that _thunk_ sound. I get up and throw open my large closet; my arms immediately go up to the top shelf to the far sides – on either side of my jeans, shorts, and skirts. How hard is it to find one belt?

"M—" I cut myself short, once I realize I was about to call out for my mom. I haven't called out to her in years! But, she always knows where my things are. _Gawd, I miss her._

Shaking my head I tear my drawers apart, shouting a victory yell when I find it. I clip the thick silver Pieces Opening Success around my waist. "Finally, found you, you lil' shit." I grin.

Practically skipping to the bathroom, I clean my teeth until they're sparkling white and brush my hair. My mom and several of my aunts and cousins always told me how jealous they were of my hair; long, thick, and no matter how much they tussled it or how much I roughed housed with my male cousins it would always fall back into perfect place. I never questioned it; I still don't and never will. Even though it might be a trait my birth parents have.

Once everything is transferred in my black and silver studded Giuseppe Zanotti bag, I zip up my boots and shrug on my coat. I leave a note for Madi on the kitchen table in case she beats me home. My large elegant script takes up the entire piece of paper.

_Hey,_

_I'm heading out (10am) and spending most of the day in the city. I'm gonna see if I can reach Tom. You feel like Chinese or KFC? Lemme, know around dinner time._

_3 Tessa_

For some reason, I can't break myself of the habit with drawing a large heart near my name.

…

The drive into the city is normal; smooth and my music softly singing from the car's speakers and the bundle of random things clink together. People walk on either sides of the road talking and laughing with each other. Cars speed by (making me wonder where the policemen are), honking loudly at other cars or pedestrians. The news on my radio comes on. They still talk about the Avengers – Tony Stark being Iron Man, someone deemed Captain America, and where they are now that Manhattan is destroyed. They talk about where the city's repaired state is and how long it'll take. With a sigh, I change the channel; being greeted with the "latest hit song."

…

Parallel parking (something I will always hate) in front of a bank, I gather my purse and put my keychain inside it. Carefully, getting out of my car I lock it up and scamper into the bank. The click of my heels is nearly lost by the soft chatter and rapid, soft typing of computer keys. Many banks and other places are holding fundraisers for the rebuild of Manhattan. All you simply have to do is say:

"I'd like to a deposit to help Manhattan." I say to the banker.

She looks up at me, eyes wide behind her thick rimmed glasses. "Miss Maberry?"

I smile at the recognition, nodding my head. "Yes, anyway the deposit?" I ask, quirking my brow up.

"Oh, yes, of course!" she signs me a slip of paper. "Please sign here with the amount you wish and your signature here." She gestures to each line with a ball-point pen.

"Okay." I take out a standby pen and sign. It's just like writing a check. I write a large, substantial amount of money on the top line with a lot of zeros. My hand flies across the lower line to fill in my name. "Here ya' go!" I hand it back, enjoying the look of shock on her face at the amount.

"Thank you so much, Miss Maberry!" she gushes.

"No problem," I beam. "I'm glad that I can help, even if it's just giving some money. Peace." I give her the universal peace out sign as I turn and leave through the revolving doors. With a huff I decide to walk down the block, ignoring my car.

"I hope my feet don't kill me for this." I sigh, looking down at my heeled shoes. The cowboy boots I always wore on the farm and walking (sometimes running) around the large grounds have hardened my feet and allowed to walk for hours. Acting – dressed in costume – has allowed me to walk, run, and perform tricks in heeled shoes. Hopefully, if I simply walk around the city for a few hours won't hurt them too much.

I walk against the flow of people until I reach the side I where I can go with people. The ever present scent of car smoke, deep fried stuff from side street vendors, and a mix of perfume and cologne nearly go unnoticed there so normal in a day. There's a constant mummer of people, which grow louder than softer. The go in and out of shows with many or little amount of shopping bags, laughing with friends. The sky is still shockingly gray and the streets are free of evidence of rain. Will it finally rain today or tonight? Even with all of its life, the gray sky is making New York City terribly boring. With everyone wearing dark shades (to either look slimmer or to match their mood) everyone looks… bleh. I glance down at my bright red coat and briefly wonder how this would like as a photo: a single drop of color in a sea of drab.

My feet carry me to Central Park and I smile at all the families there. Walking along the path, I discretely look at the parents and children wondering if any of them are adopted or were found on the side of the road as a baby with nothing but a silver key necklace. My thoughts lead to wonder how their lives are, if they're happy or sad, what they're parents do, if those people are they're parents and not they're aunt or uncle.

I stop and stare when a girl, no more than five years old it seems, runs up to her mom and dad crying with blood smeared on her knee. The dad holds her closely, kissing her temple, while the mom gently cleans it with an "emergency Chlorhex wipe." The mom places a band aid on the small cut and kisses it, followed by the dad. The little girl giggles and kisses her parents in return, before running off to play again. And I continue my walk; deep in thought.

_My parents used to do that when I was little_, I recall with a small smile. I'd come crying to them if Joe or Max pushed me too hard and I fell, or if I fell off a horse (now realizing it was just a pony), or if I got a small paper cut. They were always there for me, and still are in most cases.

_Don't forget about you-know-who_. A voice whispers in the back of my mind. I shake my head; ridding myself of the depressing thought.

Gently patting my face I quickly leave the large park and speed walk down several more blocks until my calves are screaming at me to stop. I weakly walk up to a small food shop and plop down in one of the chairs that are guarding by the large umbrella. I keep my legs straight; letting them relax.

"I should hail a cab back to my car." I mutter to myself, wondering why I even left it near the bank in the first place. I glance through the thin menu on the table.

"Hi!" a bouncing, bubbling blonde suddenly appears out of nowhere beside me.

"Hello," despite her "dumb blonde" nature that gives other blonde's a bad name, I smile kindly at her.

Her brown eyes slowly grow wide and her mouth opens to form a small 'o;' she covers it with gaudy painted nails. "Oh my God," she sighs.

_Oh boy. _

"You're Tessa Maberry!" she squeals, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Oh my God," she roughly takes my hand and starts shaking it wildly. "May I just say I loved you in _Kingdoms to Come _and _Sweet Dreams, Princess_, those were my absolute faves!" she lets out an overdramatic gasp, an idea flutters across her mind. "Can I get my picture taken with you?" she asks, already taking out her camera or phone from her apron's pocket.

My free hand – of its own accord – crawls across the table to reach a nearby plastic fork. I make as if I'm about to stab/poke her with my small weapon, saying through smiling teeth, "No touchy."

With a tight, fake smile we lean in together and she snaps a shot of us.

She's grinning from ear to ear once she's standing back up, bouncing. "This is SO going on Facebook and Twitter!" her finger is already sliding across the smooth screen as she walks back into the small shop.

"So… no food?" I ask no one in particular with a pout on my lips. Huffing I fish out my cell phone, my index finger sliding across the screen until I see a familiar name. Pressing the "call" button I wait.

"Hey, this is Madison. Leave your name and number, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

I blow a raspberry at hearing her answering machine. "Boo."

After the mechanic beep, I tell her, looking up at the gray and boring sky, "Yo, I didn't hear from you yet so I'm just gonna order some Chinese food for tonight. Don't worry I'll order extra-extra stuff. And if I'm not home before the food arrives, you know where I keep the cash."

_In my Green Lantern piggy bank._

"In the meantime," I continue, "I'll try to see where Tom's at, okay? Buh-bye!" I hang up and start texting the man we haven't heard from in weeks.

_Tessa: Did u disappear, Tommy-boy?_

A few minutes of me watching people (with an empty stomach) go by, until I get a reply.

_Tommy-Boy: No, & don't call me th ! U no I h8 th ! w_

_Tessa: Srry, ;P it's just so cute! ^-^ What happened to u?_

_Tommy-Boy: I've bn surrounded by pretty girls for months on end, taking their pics w/ em dressed in lil' clothing. W/ NO hot men to keep me company. …. I just got free a few wks ago; I've bn cing wut I missed in Paris. ;) French boys b bangin. Ooh lala~_

_Tessa: Gross. xP_

_Tommy-Boy: U asked._

_Tessa: TMI, dude, TMI._

_Tommy-Boy: *chuckles* Btw, how u holdin up? Last I heard u got an ugly scar._

I look down at the pale scab on my arm. The "tail" that led up to my elbow is no more, but what the pole had created is still there and healing at a fast pace. I know I should show some concern as to why it is feeling this way; I just can't bring myself to do so.

_Tessa: It's healing._

_There's a long pause now between us, before I get a reply from him._

_Tommy-Boy: Th s good. Oi, when I get back u wanna go out?_

_Tessa: Sure! Just bring me back a str8 cutie. ;)_

_Tommy-Boy: Lol I'll c wut I can do._

_Tessa: K! ^-^ Thx, c u l8r._

_Tommy-Boy: C u! ^-^_

With a huff I stuff my cell back in my bag, happy to have reached him after not being to speak to him for months. I'm glad to know he's doing okay (and happy, but that sounds kinda wrong to say considering what he told me). Although I wish he would talk more when overseas – I did.

"At least he's having fun." I sigh out, standing. My nose scrunches up once I see the bouncing, bubbling, bottle blonde talking to another customer. Her overly white teeth are a stark contrast against her fake tan. Slinging my purse over my arm, I hail a taxi. "I'm not coming here again."

After a quick photo off with the cab driver, I stand huddled together next to a bunch of people waiting for the crosswalk signal to give the okay. The tint of my sunglasses hides the massive amount of the sun's glare off the glistening glass buildings. Yet, in spite of my clever disguise, I can hear the murmurs of my name from the people around me and see their quick and shy glances in the corner of my eye. A few children point at me, directing their parents' attention to me. I smile at their innocent cuteness. One little girl even said that "Princess Serena is here!" That widened my smile into a grin.

The red hand flashes into a white walking figure. With everyone else I walk across the road, a red dot in a sea of grown-up blob. Only the kids and I stand out – sad really if you think about it.

"Princess Tessa!" a small voice rings out from behind me.

Twisting my torso I smile at the bounding brunette coming towards me. I gracefully turn and lower to the asphalt, sliding my large sunglasses up my face to rest on my head. There's plenty of time to talk to this little girl.

Her arms are wide open as she runs to me; I open mine in return. I see in one hand is a piece of paper and in the other is a pen.

"Princess Tessa!" she screams again, colliding me in a hug.

"Hello!" I hug her in return. Smiling down at her I tuck a lock of her light hair behind her small ear. "What is your name, little princess?" My "princess character" slips out wonderfully for this little girl – proper and courteous to those all around her. I ignore the rushing people around me and the honking horns at the multiple intersections.

"Katy," she grins showing a missing tooth in a row of pearly whites.

"Katy? That's a beautiful name."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. What can I do for you, Princess Katy?" I smile and tilt my head at her.

"Can… can I have your… auto-autograph?" she shyly looks up at me, offering me a small hard-covered pale purple and Disney Princess notebook and a matching pen. As much as I dislike being the center of attention most days, I love all my fans. Especially the little princesses and princes.

"Of course you can!" I gently take the offerings and open it. I smile once I see that the first page is blank. If Katy ever gets the chance to go to Disney World (or Disney Land), this little notebook will soon be full with the names of classical princesses and princes. I scribble my flowing signature across the Princess paper, happy to be the first "princess" to sign it.

With a wide, crooked grin Katy takes back her notebook and pen. She runs screaming and squealing to her mom. I carefully rise up – knees slightly cracking – onto my high heeled feet and watch the mother and daughter walk away. My gaze flickers to the blinking white walking man; it signaling that people shouldn't be on the road soon.

"Shit!" I mutter under my breath, automatically losing my "princess character."

I jog as elegantly as I can in my boots towards the other side of the road, but stop at sound of a blaring horn cutting through the air. Wide eyed, I stare at the speeding vehicle rushing towards me and me alone. Everyone else is too smart and ran away at the sound. My breath catches in my throat and all sounds fade away as I focus on the rushing car.

"PRINCESS TESSA!" Katy screams, fear dripping from her words.

Suddenly, like a flash of lightening in a dark sky, a thought – no, an instinct – comes to me. Protect. Protect those that cannot protect themselves. I can feel all the stares and hear the frightened screams of my name. Although, in spite of all of that, I can only feel and hear Katy, someone who is so little and so young, she cannot protect herself.

I remember stories of how people recall certain moments in their lives or how they see a white light as they're dying, but all that I can recall— know is that if I die (from something as meager as a hit by car) my family and friends will lose someone and suffer heartache.

Katy screams again; mixing with another wail from the car. My arms and legs tense, surging with adrenaline, and all fear leaves me. My thoughts turn into actions – fluidly and instinctually. My feet spread apart and my shoulders go back, a stance of a stereotypical superhero, and my hands knit together in front of me. I reel my hands back and, and at the most vital moment, I slam them down. I don't even the cold metal of the vehicle when it collides with my glued hands.

Everything slows down and fades away. The once speeding car, which was about to hit and kill me, is now flying through the air above me. Flipping nose over tail again and again and again, until the wheels slam into the asphalt behind me. I watch it, of course, with wide eyes and gaping mouth. The black wheels boom and squeak at the moment of impact bringing life back to the moment. All I hear though are people talking frantically into their cell phones, their eyes meeting mine. Full of astonishment and panic.

Katy, sweet little Katy, is hiding behind her mother with eyes full of fear.

The driver is screaming from his car – from what I'm not so sure. And it's his screaming that causes my legs to move. I jog over him, a cold feeling wraps around my heart and stomach. Could I have really harmed him?

My fingers curl over the driver's side window, windows no more. It's a gentle touch, so much different than what happened mere seconds ago. "Are you alright?" I sweep my eyes over him. No signs of blood or broken bones. Just a white powder from the air bags covers him.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" he pushes me away.

I stumble away, nearly tripping over my feet.

I look back at the sea of fear and panicked face dressed in dreary colored common-street clothes. Among the raging sea and blaring ambulance sirens, I see one person. He, like the others, is talking into his cell phone. Only he's dressed in a black suit and tie and wearing dark sunglasses. Underneath his sunglasses I see calm expression, he hangs up who he was talking to but continues to stare at me. Even when the paramedics take me away.

**~ Asgard ~**

Loki sits in his dull white glass chamber, staring at the wall past the glass. His light colored eyes still hold their cold and calculating gaze. His mind still goes on and on – thinking of ways to rid himself of these… thoughts. Certainly he has gone mad in these short months since his attempt on Midgard.

The torture.

The silence.

It was bound to happen to him at some point but he never thought so soon. Why would his mind play such tricks on him; feeling the gentle brush upon his cheek is a trick of his own mind? It's so small and dainty and warm on his cold cheek. There's another one, on his other cheek; hands are cradling his face. Smooth thumbs run along his sharp features. Wiping away tears that aren't there, but were once there a long time ago.

Days after the incident, he felt her loving touch. Her hands either hold him or caress him. Making familiar motions; brushing away strands of his dark hair, attempting to wipe away the smears of red, or hold him tight to keep the fear at bay. Now, she holds his face. This… sensation surely has to be that of a woman's caring touch. Hands that have never held a weapon are uncalloused – unmarked. The gentle way they brush against him – no man has dared touch him in a way. The slim fingers which brush his hair back and long, elegant nails that causes shivers to travel down his back. These gentle hands must belong to a young woman.

Loki cannot see her – not even a silhouette. Loki can only feel her touch. Lately he has been finding himself giving into the soft feeling, closing his eyes or leaning into it. Where else may he receive such a touch ever again?

Now, is no different. He closes his eyes and pictures a pretty woman kneeling before him. She stretches up and warm, smooth lips brush against his forehead.

_If this be a trick of my own mind or of someone else, let it be._

Her lips move carefully, softly against his skin. She whispers, "What have the realms done to you, my Little Loki?"

_Little Loki._ That pet name ignites something deep within him. A flicker of a thought—a deep, deep thought buried in the many corridors of his complex mind. There's a soft knock – a scratch – against a locked, bound in chain, steel door at the end of a dark corridor. The thick chains and numerous padlocks fall to the ground one strand after heavy strand. He apprehensively opens the door and allows the dim candlelight to seep in.

The lips move against his forehead again. She whispers, "I will never harm you, Little Loki." The name beckons to him; urging him to open the door further and step through.

The smell of spring apples, cherries, and fresh cut grass wafts up to his nose. This scent is so familiar to him; he steps through. Although, he walks in very—tremendously cautiously. Soft strands of hair tickle at his face. A small hand slips into his and pulls him in. The petite candle cannot penetrate the enormous darkness surrounding him. Yet, he can't bring himself to care.

She sits down and he follows suits.

Loki leans his head back against the cool empty hair behind him, and lets the feelings overtake him. Drowning himself in the scent of apples, cherries, and cut grass.

His head slowly falls back into a flushed chest – it's under this ample chest that he feels and hears the steady beat of her heart. So slow and so steady he nearly falls asleep. He's oh-so-tempted to bury his face into her breasts; listen to her calm heartbeat. He enjoys the rush of blood under his fingertips and seeing the panic and fear in others' eyes. But with his young maiden, he knows he won't enjoy any of that.

He feels himself falling into her lap. Warmth – sunlight – bathes across his face. His hands are holding a book and his eyes roam as if they're reading across the pages. The woman's thin fingers brush through his hair. He closes his eyes and enjoys the warmth spreading through him. A single finger draws up to his forehead and draws random things on his skin.

She writes _Little Loki_, in an elegant script.

No one but her dared to call him that; he knows. And no one dared harm her. In this small, dark room that has led them to a grassy hill with her fingers in his hair and his head in her lap, no one dared harm her. He would kill anyone who tried to take her away from him.

_I am… content…. _He smiles as she continues to brush her fingers through his hair.

"You heard her, too?" Thor's deep voice shatters Loki's tranquility.

Loki is viciously ripped away from the sun filled valley and locked off room. The light is snuffed and stale air returns to it. The thick steel door slams shut and the chains wrap around the door and hall, padlock after large padlock click to each intersecting chain. His light green eyes snap open and he's met with the white ceiling and glass walls.

Thor stares at his younger brother with concern etched out in his blue eyes. Surely, it was that woman that has plagued him for the last few months.

"You speak as if I know what you are talking about." Loki says, all warmth gone.

"The young maiden whose voice is like tiny bells. It's pleading, urging me—us to follow. You heard her, yes?" he pleads, desperate to know if he's heard her too.

"No," Loki lies yet this is not a lie. "I did not hear her."

"Oh," Thor obviously deflates. "My apologies. I thought…"

"Now, that I have never heard of before."

The God of Thunder gains a glare in his eyes; he heard the woman again. With his brother being a master of magic, he thought Loki could understand the issue better or that he may have actually seen her face. All Thor has gained is his brother's mockery.

Maybe he should have gone to his parents.

**A/N: So, did I get Loki right or even a sense of him? I'd really like to know. I've read various fanfic's of him and I've seen the movies, so to me he is cold and distant but mostly due to the fact that he's lived in Thor's (and someone else's hint, hint) shadow for so long. To me, he isn't a sinical monster or a desperate boy that screaming for a hug. He's... a mesh of the two.**

* * *

**Answers to reviews:**

**Amy (Guest) - I'm glad you love my story. ^^ Haven't you read the long ass opening author's note? It's up to YOU (the readers) to decide who Tessa ends up with via votes for the two. As of yet, I haven't gotten any votes.**

**Allanna Stone - Thank you, so much! I'm glad you're liking it so far. ***With the classes I'm taking now, I probably won't be able to update as often as I like. I will try though!*****


	5. Expressive Eyes

**A/N:**** Man, my classes are really kicking my ass. *sigh***

**Again, I'm gonna start with thanking some people. ^_^ Thanks to my new followers: Harlequince, LHNT, sweetcookie82, and It199798. It's really hard for me to believe that I now have ten followers for this story. Along with seven people favoring it. So, thanks you guys it really means a lot to me.**

**And a BIG shout out to Allanna Stone, who was the FIRST person to vote on who Tessa should be paired with. *throws party streamers in the air and blows into a noise maker*  
The score is now:  
Steve- 1  
Loki- 0**

**Which I find a bit shocking honestly. ^^; I guess like Amy (Guest) said, you guys/gals are just waiting to see how Loki and Steve interact with Tessa. While, I woulda just voted for my favorite. ;)**

**Anyway, read, enjoy, and review!**

**Ch. 5****: Expressive Eyes**

"With the exception of a fading scar on your right forearm, from a previous accident, there are no signs of internal or external damage." says Dr. Goodwin flipping through her notes and scribbling things down. "Your blood and urine levels, heart rate, blood pressure, mucus membranes, and temperature are all normal. However, we would still like to run a few more tests." She looks at me over her thick rimmed glasses.

My upper lip peels back with a snarl, eyes blazing. "What other tests could you possibly run! You just said my vital signs are normal! Can't I go home? I feel fine!" Everyone else in the room is gone. I can't see any of the star-struck nurses or other doctors with this super note-taking bitch in front of me.

"Miss Maberry," she sighs, irritated at my attitude, "you've been in a car accident—"

"See, that's where you're wrong! I wasn't! That guy that was driving was!"

"There are witnesses—"

"That said I flipped the fucking car! I know, I know. But if my blood and urine tests came back negative for drugs, then I'm clean! You can even ask my roommate – she's at Stark Industries right now." I go for my purse and fish out my iPhone. "You can call her," I offer her the small device once I choose to view my many messages later, "go ahead." I urge her to take it.

She doesn't. She simply sighs and pushes up her glasses.

"It is against our protocol to use our patient's electronic devices. Although, if you be okay giving us her number, we will use our land line—"

The door slams opens just then. Causing everyone to jump and stare at the man in the black suit and tie. His close buzz cut and dark sunglasses remind me of the man from the street.

"You will not be talking to my client or her friends or family until I say you can."

"And just who are you?" asks a young male nurse, chest puffed.

"I am Miss Maberry's lawyer." He states, taking off his sunglasses and clipping them onto his suit. "And it's in your best interest if you leave now." His voice is cool and crisp—calm and collected. It's almost as if he knows he can fight his way through all of these doctors and security guards if need be. I think there might be even a gun under his suit's jacket, or maybe that's just my imagination running off again.

Wait. When did I even call for a lawyer?

I stare up at the man from my spot on the hospital bed. One elegant blonde eyebrow raised high in confusion.

"Since all of her vital signs are normal, as you've said and as I can see, there are things I need to discuss with my client." His dark eyes glide over everyone in the white room. "Are we clear?"

Dr. Goodwin nods and leaves, albeit reluctantly, her fellow doctors and nurses leave behind her. The mysterious lawyer softly shuts door behind them and locks it. With my purse in my lap and hand deep in large bag, I curl my fingers around my taser. My eyes keep glancing at my cell phone beside me. Should I call the police now without hearing him? This guy gives me some serious heebie-jeebies.

"You're cell phone won't work." He suddenly says.

"What?" my grip tightens.

"We're running a magnetic field over this hospital," he says, walking over to the window. He makes a gesture with his hand before walking back in front of me at the foot of the bed.

My grip tightens and my heart begins to race.

_Just remember all the lessons you took. _I tell myself, recalling all the training and self-defense classes I took. _Stay calm and if he plans on doing anything attack. Let the role of an assassin come in handy._

"We made sure that the medical technology remains untouched. Only cellular devices and land lines are affected." He places his suitcase on the bed, but makes no move to open it.

"How thoughtful of you, Mr. …. I'm sorry," I say sarcastically, "I didn't get your name." I smirk, absolute hate shaking me to the core.

"That's because I didn't give it to you."

"Will you?"

"No. Now, if you'll please come with me—" his hand goes to grab me.

I slap his hand away and scream, "Don't fucking touch me!" I scramble off the bed my hand tearing away from my purse. The taser is clutched in my hand. "And just stay away from me!"

Everything I was taught about fighting and defending myself slithers out under the door and through the cracks in windows. I just… need to fight. Blindly and carelessly fight this man before me. This small gun-like object just needs to be touching him and electric shocks will course through his system. Then, I'll run. I'll run all the way home and lock all the doors and windows. Call the police, too, and warn Madison.

"Tessa," he doesn't even sound afraid! "I'm not going hurt you. No one is. But if you do not come with me quietly and calmly actions _will_ be taken."

My arms do not lower and my eyes do not waver away from him. "What sort of 'actions?'"

He calmly walks back to the window, looks out, and looks back at me. "We have Intel that your parents are harboring an alien – an immigrant that crossed our nation's boarders without legal purposes. Your family – their employees – will go to jail for a long time and lose everything." His dark eyes stare into mine, cool and calculating.  
Unreadable.

"You, Miss Tessa Maberry, will be trailed as a coconspirator. Your career, your clothes' lines, your fans, your fundraisers and charities, those orphanages, foster homes, and animal shelters you opened and rebuilt – everything you know and love will be gone. That is, if you refuse to come with me."

Panic fills my core so fast that it's nearly nauseating.

My world is spinning. The belt around my waist suddenly feels too tight and my bare arms long to be wrapped in the wool red fabric of my trench coat.

My heart is racing; chest rises and falls with deep, uneven breaths. I'm nearly gasping for air to fill my lungs. My raised arms begin to prickle and shake in tremors. The heavy weight in my arms causes them to lower and for my only weapon to point at the tiled floor. With heavy, cold fingers my gun falls to the floor with a loud _clunk_. The sound echoes in my ears.

My eyes are wide and full of fear, astonishment, and repressed rage. Somehow tears slowly fill them. All words-pleas die before they pass my lips. This man and his… organization intend not only to destroy my life, but my family's and friends' as well. Those who know me know that I'm fiercely protective of my loved ones. News and magazine articles covered stories of how I fought with people about such things. There's something about this man though that I just can't place. No matter how many times I run fighting scenarios through my head, I feel that he'd win every time.

A sudden ring slices through the air making me jump in shock.

The man fishes out a flat, black cell phone from his coat's pocket without taking his gaze off of me. "Hello. … Yes. Alright." He offers me the device, a hint of a smile is on his lips. "It's for you."

Swallowing a lump in my throat, I take the iPhone with shaky fingers. "H-Hello?"

"You are on the fifth floor, in E5." a confident man states on the other line; my heart stops and flutters at his knowledge. "We have our agents scattered throughout this hospital building – Winning Health Hospital, correct? And if you even think you can beat Agent Robertson, which you know you won't, you will not be able to get past every single one of them. We can make it look like an accident, Tessa Rosalin Maberry. We _will_ make it look like an accident if we have to. That is if you run and refuse to come with us willingly."

I lick my suddenly dry lips and close my eyes as the panic is replaced with a realizing dread. I have no choice. If I want to protect my good name and my loved ones, I have to go with this man. It takes a great effort for me to open my eyes and stare at the man in black – Agent Robertson. I wonder how many fake nurses and doctors are scattered throughout this building.  
"Alright."

Was that my voice? I never sounded so genuinely weak, defeated before. I can feel my fate being closed and taken from me as Robertson takes his phone back.

He slides his sunglasses back on and gathers his suitcase. "Miss Maberry," he offers me his arm.

Glancing at his arm, I shrug on my coat and gather my purse. I grasp his elbow with my free hand and clutch my purse to my chest. He leads us out with quick, confident strides. In my slim high-heels and lead-like feeling legs it's hard to keep up. I almost ask him to slow down.

Almost being the operative word.

I nearly cried in front of this man; I won't ask him for something in less than an hour.

We – thankfully – take the elevator. Several people with cool, calculating expressions enter and guard the sliding white doors. Every other nurse or doctor is wearing bright, happy colors. These men and women are all wearing navy blue. I begin to chew on my lower lip as the harsh feeling in the atmosphere weighs down over me.

The single rectangular light fixture flickers above us.

"Miss Maberry," voices a woman with an English accent from the front.

"Yes," I glance up at her instead of staring at the floor.

"There's a swarm of paparazzi outside the front and back entrance. I suggest you wear your glasses."

"Oh," I look down at my bag, "thank you." Needles bristle into my fingers as the brush against the items in my small bag. My fingers meet the familiar rounded rectangular edge of my glasses; I take the black sunglasses out and slide them on my face.

There's a soft _ding_ and we all get off the same floor. The nurses disperse; however, I notice that they keep a sharp eye on me. They're agents.

Robertson practically drags me out of the hospital. I trip and stumble in my boots on the smooth, wet floor. He continues to lift and pull me toward the door.

"Sir," Dr. Goodwin runs to us, eyes frantic. "You can't take Miss Maberry—"

"She has already been checked out and we have a car waiting. There is no need for her to stay here, Doctor." He doesn't look back and neither do I.

I keep my gaze down, everything tinted black. The bright flashing lights of cameras are dulled by my large glasses. People are screaming my name, asking if I'm alright, how I flipped a car nose over tail, and if I know the driver of said car is alright. Of course, I don't answer any of them. My head is down and my hair is hanging over my shoulders, shielding my already partially hidden face.

I can hear Fred's voice in my head. He's telling me to keep my head down and not to answer any of their questions. He's told me again and again if this ever happened to me to do just that. This is the first time anything like this has happened.

Robertson orders me to get in the car. I slide in; noting that the windows are completely black—tinted. I slide my celebrity sunglasses up to rest on my head, looking around the black, leather interior. It's like I'm inside a short limo; everything's dark and private. There's a window that separates the passengers and the driver. Agent Robertson locks the door once he's inside. He doesn't say anything.

I'm glad though. I don't need to hear his voice saying that I'm in trouble. I look out the window and watch all the blurs that go by, ignoring the big blue pleading eyes staring back at me.

_Please let everything be alright._

**~ Asgard ~**

There's a massive paper parchment within a large golden frame that took up a quarter of the length of the wall; however, it hung from the ceiling and grazed the floor. Beneath the colorful paints and detailed lines and curves are parallel thin lines stitching that create the paper. With so many stitches and layers, it'll be difficult to tear. Despite the multiple stitches and many layers the edges remain un-frayed under the heavy, twisting frame.

The setting of the grand artwork is within some grand place in the golden palace. There's an open window showing a clear blue sky, deep red drapes hang on either side of the painting. A delicate blue vase, full of various types of flowers, stands on an end table of oak wood near the window and before the drapes. There's a tall oak chair with a high back at the forefront.

The AllFather stares up at the three young people in the painting: the Golden Son, the Peacekeeper, and the Silvertongue.

Thor, the Golden Son, stands proudly to the right of the chair. He's hunched over slightly, nearly leaning over to the tall chair. One massive arm is draped over the back of the chair, while the other is crossed over a large, soft chest. His sky blue eyes are shining with utter joy and amusement. His blonde beard is short and clean, lips spread wide to reveal a dazzling white smile that cause maidens to swoon. To not be a part of the drapery, he doesn't wear his red cape. He does wear his blue and silver armor – winged helm included. The Asgardian steel glimmers in the natural light.

Loki, the Silvertongue, (dare Odin think the Traitor?) stands calmly and just as proudly on the left of the chair. One of his hands is behind his straight spine, while the other is clasping a small and far daintier one. The light green eyes stare at anyone who walks by with a cool gaze, his thin lips are in a thin line, and his expression is the opposite of his then-brother. Not sad or empty, just merely… knowing. His green, black, and gold dresses stand out in the gold and red setting behind them. His cape is forever still and horned helmet a greater difference to Thor's helm. Nevertheless, the gold, much like the silver, shines dully in the lighting.

The Peacekeeper, the only daughter of Odin, the bell-like laughter dancing down the corridors, the apple of his eye, the Lost Princess of Asgard, sits perfectly still in the royal wooden chair. She, like her brothers, is an image of royalty: a straight spine, shoulders squared, and, beneath the light and dark blue of her long skirt, legs tucked perfectly for a princess. Her bright blue eyes are luminescent with an untold happiness as she holds her brothers' hands. The corners of her rose red lips are curled up, revealing sparkling white teeth. A golden circlet wraps itself around her thick golden tresses. Unlike the eldest's, the wings are subtlety noticeable. Her dress, in its entirety, can only be described as one thing: wind. It flows to the floor and it moves with the still wind in the room. Three-quarter length sleeves are square and fall from her slim shoulders. On either side of the deep V-neckline are golden circles. The 'V' is cut off by a golden underbust. (And, in an act of spite to the King, she did not wear something to hide her ample bosom. They yelled and screamed at each other until both of their voices left them and they were both red in the face; they resorted into glaring at one another. Odin remembers the enormous amounts of hate and loathing in her eyes.)

How many times has the Mighty King of Asgard fallen to those big blue eyes full of tears? How many times has Odin let Thor and Loki go for their mistakes because of her expressive eyes? How many times has he given her something by just merely looking into her eyes? How many times has he heard her cries at night after the death of her beloved stable boy?

Too many. He has fallen too many times to the eyes that revealed every raw emotion she felt, every tear that has fallen from her eye.

Odin once had a daughter and was securely wrapped around her weak pinky finger. The day she came to him in confidence with a sort of prideful air around her and asked him to be a warrior was the first day he said no. He saw something break within her that day. Her eyes lost that noticeable sparkle and she distant herself from him; finding shelter with Frigga and her two brothers. Each time the great King looked into her eyes he saw a void of nothingness.

"Had I known that that would happen to you, my daughter," his voice is weak, defeated as he gazes up at her joyful eyes, "I would have let Thor and Loki teach you with a sword and magic; you would not have been taken from us. Me."

"Odin," Frigga's voice echoes all around him. Her sandals barely make a sound as she walks up to him. Her soft hands glide up his back and rest on his strong shoulders. "What are you doing here, my King?" she whispers in his ear.

"Thinking of our daughter." His eye doesn't leave her face. Her eyes. Those eyes that was once full of wonder and love.

"She will return to us, my King. You know that and I know that – we feel it." Frigga looks over his shoulder, gazing up at the Peacekeeper's eyes.

They can only hope that she'll return to them soon.

* * *

**A/N:**** So... what did you think? You all got to see just how famous she really is. ****  
I really don't want Tessa to be a Mary-Sue, but she is very famous and well-known. Hence why she has done so much for such a young person, as Agent Robertson said. First and foremost, she is an actress and is not a trained fighter, which is how she "forgot" to fight. She is very much protective of her loved ones, much like most people. And in a state of panic people tend to forget what they were taught and do as they're told to avoid any harm.**

**Did I get the essence of S.H.I.E.L.D right? :/ I guess we'll see more of that in the next chapter.**

******Answers to reviews:**

**Allanna Stone -** *steps back, wide-eyed* Ronsider your vote accounted for. But what's with the evil chuckle? Kinda freaky. I think Thor would be a protective brother and wish Tessa and Steve well; considering he's with Jane Foster. As for Loki... he'd probably not see the point in them two being together. We'll see how the votes turn out. ^-^

**Guest -** I will, most definately! Me too actually. Lol Should be interesting to say the least. ;)

**Amy (Guest) -** *scratches the back of my neck with a small blush on my face* Yeah..., I'm a lil' bit guilty of that. ^^; Sorry, if my answer last chapter sounded mean. I just _really_ wanna have a rock solid knowing of who she's paired with.  
I've alreay have ideas for the first interactions, but my damn classes are keeping away from my baby!

****VOTE COUNT:****  
Steve- 1  
Loki- 0

**Next chapter's title:**  
**Faltering Form**


	6. Faltering Form

**A/N:**** *sing-song type of voice* My classes are kicking my ass~! Note from the young and stupid, NEVER take two major science classes the same semester. You'll be walking up a steep hill. *sigh***

**Like always, I want to take this time to thank some people. First, my new follower, Tatsurion. Thank you for liking this story so much that you'd wish to know when it's being updated. Secondly (and possibly the most heart-warming), a new follower, commenter, and voter: DarkessKnightStarLady. :) It means SO much to me that you took the time to read all of the chapters I've posted so far, commented it, are now following this story, and actually VOTED! Thank you so much; it means a lot to me.  
For all: With each vote I get the future of this story becomes more and more clear. (Along with any future sequels I post.)  
******The score is now:**  
Steve- 2  
Loki- 0**

**Where IS Loki's army? Hm... If it all plans out, Loki and Tessa should be meeting within... three or so chapters.**

**May you all enjoy this chapter! But please, don't for get to review and vote if you haven't already.**

**Ch. 6****: Faltering Form**

The driver and Robertson don't say anything for the entire ride. In those few hours I've spent the ride trying to calm my frantic heart and my imagination. It runs wild with crazy and unbelievable outcomes that couldn't possibly happen to someone like me. They'll strap me to a table and perform tests on me. My mouth will be stuffed with a thick fabric and a thick strap of leather tide around my face, so that they won't have to hear my screams. They'll mess with my head, asking me questions and twist my words. Make it seem like I don't know what I truly know. They'll inject me with substances I don't know the true origins of and have no idea the affects it'll have on me.

I stop drumming my fingers on my knee to scratch my arm. I can feel something's wrong with it. Glancing down I don't see anything wrong with it, but the thought of tiny red bumps from the injection site crawls into my mind.

_Mom and Dad always told me not to take rides with strangers. However, I guess with all our lives at risk, I didn't have a choice._

My uneven breathing seems to be amplified in the small car. I press my forehead against the tinted window, relishing in the cool contact. I look up, only getting glimpses of my eyes in the poor reflection, and see the fast blurred images of the passing scenery.

_I wonder what would happen if I just jumped out right now…._

"Are we there yet?" I ask, not looking at Robertson.

"No."

"How much longer?"

"Soon."

Keeping my head against the glass, I look at him with a mix of irritation and accusation gleaming in my eyes. "You're not one for much conversation, are you, Agent Robertson?"

"No."

"Pppthhbbbth," I blow a raspberry, before turning my attention back to the passing scenery. _Piss off._

…

In the next two or so hours, we're far beyond the City and its suburbs. And my paranoia grows more and more. _This is where they'll dispose of my body._

The simple black coverings cover the windows with a sudden snap. "Ow…" I rub my temple, flinching at the tenderness and gently tug my light strands out from their trap. I chew on my lip at the thought of split ends.

"What was that for!" I growl at him, petting the abused ends of my hair. My hate grows and grows for this man and his… organization.

"We're close to our stop and we can't have you knowing where it lies."

"You could've warned me to get my head away from the window."

He doesn't respond.

_Jerk._

Another handful of time goes by and, judging by my cell, it's a quarter to five. Madi should be home soon if she hadn't already after hearing the little stir I caused.

Sighing, I stuff my cell back into my bag. "How much longer?"

"We'll be arriving soon."

_You said that hours ago._

I settle back into the leather seat, crossing my arms and leaning my head backwards and try to relax. Every so often my fingers tap against my bicep to keep my mind off any possible outcomes. I can feel myself trembling beneath my thick coat; I can't lose myself in my own mind.

The dark vehicle slows to a stop after many bumpy turns. I wonder if we went in circles to have it so they know I won't be able to find where ever it is we're going. Opening my eyes, I stare blankly at the black covering. With a deep sigh, an exhale through my nose I glance at Robertson. He's staring straight ahead of himself with a stern expression.

He opens the door and steps out; I catch a glimpse of a barren ground. There's no grass or trees. I groan as I wiggle my door handle viciously.

"HEY!" I shout once I hear the driver leave. I bang on the protected glass. "Let me out!" An interesting mix of fear and rage consumes me as my nails bite into the palms of my hands. I swing at empty air once the door sudden opens. I all but growl at Robertson, whose staring down at me with a small, smug smile on his lips.

"Right this way, Miss Maberry." He says, amusement tingeing his voice.

I angrily gather my handbag off the seat; suddenly realizing that my taser isn't inside it anymore. I glance up at the motionless agent dressed in black picturing the outline of the taser in his pocket. _Sneaky bastard, he took it when we were back at the hospital._

"Where are we exactly?" I ask, getting out of the car and begin to swipe away imaginary dust on my black jeans.

"We are where we are precisely at."

"That doesn't sound like some bad riddle." I look around the empty field of rolling grassy hills that falls into a roaring ocean. "How far away are we from the city?" I look at either Robertson or the driver for an answer, more so hoping one from the silent driver.

It's Robertson with an unspecific answer, "Far enough."

I look up at the driver, a man dressed like Robertson and donning a pair of black tinted sunglasses, asking, "How about you?

"We're far enough."

At least I got an extra word out of him.

I stand between the two tall, imposing men glancing at the tranquil area. I'm almost tempted to slide my sunglasses back over my face.

"What are we waiting for, exactly?" I glance up between them.

Mr. Silent doesn't reply. Agent Robertson, however, answers in his annoying short way again, "Our ride."

"What ri—" at that precise moment a rapid, multi chopping sound cuts through the air. Looking up my eyes widens, my jaw falls open, and my chest rises and falls with panicked breaths. A large metal grey helicarrier flies towards us; the true scale of it grows and grows as it nears. I've only ever seen these things in movies and picture books, so it's astonishing to see one coming towards me.

I continuously push my whirling blonde strands away from my face and my coat angrily beats against my frame as it draws near.

"What—" My breath catches in my throat and a cold feeling wraps itself around my chest and gut. "I… I don't believe it. What is that thing?" I shout over the chopping blades, instinctively looking at Robertson.

As the dirt and loose rocks are further kicked up, the agent slides his glasses on his face with a cocky smirk on his lips. "That, Miss Maberry, would be our ride."

I suddenly feel the intense urge to run. THIS is where they decide to kill me and feed me to the fish. My chest begins to rise and fall in panicked breaths and my arms tremble with ramped nerves. "I… I… I…," I stutter uncontrollably, looking over my shoulders.

_Where am I?_

Despite my lack of knowledge, I scream, "I need to go!" I turn and run across the uneven terrain, nearly tripping in my boots.

They catch me, however and raise me up. I kick at the empty air and screech, ordering them to let me go and how I didn't do anything wrong. Despite their tight grip I try continuously to wretch myself free; ignoring the thought of bruises on my biceps. Small, hard objects hit the back of my head – rocks – as the helicarrier lowers its ramp to the ground. My voice cracks as it reaches new levels of intensity.

"NAAAAHHHHH! Let me go!" My struggles don't lessen as they take me up the steel ramp. My purse bumps and rocks violently at my side. "You stupid fucks will hear from my lawyers!" I continue to throw every threat that comes to my mind and yet they don't retaliate; not even a twitch of the lips.

We ascend up numerous set of steel steps. Beyond my ear-shattering screams, I can hear a deep _thrump_ from the large four air chopping blades. "Somebody help me!" I scream, my voice echoing off the walls. Nobody comes to my aid.

There's a small _beep_ and _whoosh_, before I'm thrown down to the hard ground. Whirling around (and pushing away my wild-windblown hair) I glare at the driver who holds my bag; and everything that resides within it.

"Give me that!" I shout, pointing to him, and walk up to him.

There's another _whoosh_ of air and I'm met with a glass door in front of me.

"Our director will be with you shortly." Robertson states before walking away with the mysterious unnamed driver by his side.

"You can't leave me here!" I shout, slapping at the glass. "I know my rights! I'm being held against my will! THIS IS KIDNAPPING!" I try to reason with them – all of them – to strike fear into them. No one answers me; the chopping air and the diligent typing of keys are my only responses.

I huff and puff angrily, stalking around the circular glass cage. I spot cameras scattered around the perimeter of the room. Every time I pass one I either stick my tongue out at it or raise my middle finger, sometimes both. White floors and white (barely any) furniture blend into the glass circular walls and the outside bleh.

I stop short at one camera, glaring menacingly at it. "Well?" I growl, quirking my brow. "I've been waiting for God knows how long and your precious director has yet to show. If he doesn't show soon I would like to be returned home…NOW."

"Fast enough for you, Miss Maberry?"

I gasp, whirling around to the front entrance. I see a tall, dark skinned man dressed in black with an eye patch holding a folder. I blink and stare at the scarred portion of his face.

"Very," I say and walk forward. Every step I take the curiosity about his eye patch crumbles and rage blooms again. A cold glare bristles to my eyes. "Now, can you please," – I spat the word out – "tell me what is going on and why I'm in this thing?" I gesture to the walls around me.

"Since you asked so nicely, we're led to believe that you – despite your fame and glory and noticeable past – are not what you seem to be." He opens the folder and reads from it. "At the age of twenty, you tried for the role lead role of _Sweet Dreams, Princess_ and got it. From there your career as an actress skyrocketed, closely followed by your singing and modeling career. All of which you claim is from the drive your dead boyfriend's – Logan Richardson – promise." My hard stare falters at this; no one mentions him.

He continues, "As of three months ago you turned twenty-five and spent it in New Jersey on your family farm, like you always do on your birthdays. There you fell from a loft, where any NORMAL person would sustain a broken leg or arm or any other form of injury you merely gotten a twisted ankle. Tell me, Miss Maberry, how is that?"

I know how he knows about Logan; from the beginning I've always mentioned him. How could he know of the barn mishap?

"I… I have a really badass immune system." I smile with a small laugh.

"Does your 'badass immune system' count for your actions today? Or those times when your entire class was sick with a rampant infection in the third grade and you weren't? The most noticeable act of your 'badass immune system' is when you and your roommate, Madison Lough, were in a car crash. Lough suffered numerous injuries that left her crippled for several months to almost a year. You, however, only had a gash above your left eye and over your right shoulder." His eye seems to trace over the nonexistent scars; although my shoulder is hidden under my coat and shirt. "By the way, how is your arm?"

I instinctively hide my right forearm. Robertson must've told him what the doctors said.

"It's healing." I tell him.

"At an exceptional rate from what I heard. Will you tell us how? And the truth."

"The truth?" I laugh. "You accept me to tell you the truth after all of this? I was threatened at a hospital about my loved ones safety, and my career and life. I was brought here more or less against my will with Mr. Tall-and-Scary and Mr. Little-Say-Nothing. Oh, and you'll love this, I'm brought to the middle of nowhere where you might very well kill me and throw away my body! You want me to tell you truth about me flipping over that car? How about you telling me your name, giving me some goddamn food 'cause I'm fucking starving, and letting me go!" my nose is nearly pressed against the glass as I stare up at him. "How about that, Mr. One Eye?"

"First," he's losing his patience by the sounds of it, "you tell me how you flipped a fucking car over your head."

I whirl around from screaming and pulling at my hair. "I don't know! I don't FUCKING know!" I look over my shoulder to glare at him. "If I knew don't you think I woulda told you from the beginning to avoid all of this?" I turn to fully face him. My hands shake and my body trembles under my coat as I walk up to him with tears in my eyes. "I just don't know. Please, let me go home."

There's a stifling feeling in the air as he looks down at me with his eye. His expression of indifference is alarming and it's slowly chipping away at me.

"You're a very good actress, Miss Maberry." He suddenly says coolly.

I blink; my tears instantly go away with his accusation. "What?"

As he walks down the steps, away from me, I follow him until I can't. "Let me know when Your Majesty is ready to talk or needs a magazine or something."

"I'm not acting! Please, let me go!"

All the anger and rage I felt is gone, and anxiety and misery takes their place. I truly do just want to go home. _They'll have to return me soon; Madi should be home soon._

My head hangs low as I walk over to the white bench. I've never felt so defeated. I close my eyes to will it all away, but I can still hear the blades outside chopping at the air and the rapid typing of keys. If I listen more closely I can hear the cameras' humming around me – watching me and studying me. I turn to one and blankly stare at it for a handful of heartbeats, before looking away again.

I knit my fingers over my stomach; hoping that a small pressure will keep the nauseating feeling of hunger away. My uncomfortable coughs sound like gags to me. With my emotions running high as they are, it took what little energy I had from my small breakfast.

_They probably think I'm acting again. Dicks._

A mouth-watering aroma suddenly wafts up to my nose; I sniff the air not bothering to open my eyes. It has to be a trick.

"Pardon me, ma'am."

I jolt from my trance-like state at the voice. Looking up at the entrance of my (what I guess to be a) cage, I see a deliciously tall and muscular man with styled blonde hair, a plaid shirt is under a brown leather jacket, tan slacks run down his long legs, and two-toned brown vintage shoes. He seems like a good cop with his sparkling blue eyes.

I slowly get up and walk up to him. "Yes…?"

"I couldn't help but notice that you were hungry?" He moves his arms from behind his back, revealing a cardboard box of various Chinese food. My mouth instantly begins to water.

_Food._

"Yes," I nod vigorously, grinning widely, "Yes, I am!" I laugh. I'm positively giddy with the idea of finally eating something.

_He's definitely the good cop._

The door _whooshes_ open again. He goes to step through the threshold; I hold my hands up to stop him. My heart flutters and my stomach turns cold. He tilts his head with confusion written over his face.

"Are you allowed to come in? Apparently I'm some kinda She-Hulk with superhuman strength."

He chuckles, nodding, walking through the open threshold. "Yes, everything will be okay. Here," he urges me to take the box, "have some. I got them for you."

I look into the box, trying to control my drool with all the colorful foods and smells. "For me?" I smile up at him. He can't be the bad cop; he's not dressed like them, he's cute, and he brought me food. I can smile at him, can't I?

A rosy blush rises to his cheeks. Still holding the box with one hand, he starches his blush with the other. "Y-Yeah, I heard how hungry you were so I ordered some food."

"Thank you," I go to take a box of rice and duck sauce. I falter when I can't say his name. "Um… thank you…," holding to my choice, I look up at him.

_Finally a good, nice man taller than me._

"Rogers. Steve Rogers."

"Thank you, Steve Rogers." I grin up at him, full of gratitude for someone so kind. I lightly laugh, aware that there isn't a table. I gesture towards the bench I previously sat on. "Would you like a seat?" If he entered to just give me food, he must want to stay. It's not like I'm craving someone with a good heart right now to talk to.

Still slightly flustered, he agrees with an adorable nod and toothy smile. I almost vibrate with giddiness at his kind persona. My cheeks nearly hurt with all my smiling.

We spilt the Chinese box down the middle. Although I've caught Steve sliding some of his half towards mine; I inwardly laugh at his thoughtfulness. So kind.

_So… chivalrous._

A thought occurs to me; my eyes widen and I pause mid-bite.

"I'm sorry, Steve!"

"For what?"

"I never introduced myself," I beam, ready to say my (famous) name, "I'm–"

"Tessa Rosalin Maberry." Steve grins to himself, down at the box of food. I see his eyes widen and his body tense. "Um… that is to say, that is your name. And I know that 'cause… 'cause… 'cause I'm a-a-a," – he clears his throat, refusing to look me in the eye – "I'm a fan."

**~ Asgard ~**

Heimdall stands at the edge of the Bifröst his golden eyes ever watchful. He watches and sees all. Among all the Nine Realms, he searches for her. He searches for the damsel with the gentle voice that screamed to be trained on the ways of war, the soft touch that caressed a sleeping monster in love many times, and the expressive blue eyes that failed to bring her father to see her way.

He searched for her for twenty-five years, three months, two weeks, and four days.

He hunts for her. For her absence is the reason why Thor and Loki are the way they are, why the AllFather grows wearier upon his throne and gazes upon the portraits of her with longing, and why Frigga cries in the Forbidden Room and creates armor for a young woman who may never return. It would not even take a daft person to realize the resemblance between Thor's and hers armor; only hers is far more feminine. (2)

Heimdall has seen the monsters that took her away and her fight valiantly in their clutches. He can still hear her screams and protests as they twisted and turned into a realm. King Odin and Queen Frigga would be proud of their daughter, he knows.

A purple, with a galaxy wrapped around it, vial pressed itself against her lips. It was then where she refused to scream and tears to leak from her eyes. One monster stabbed her left side; she screamed in pure agony and the contents of the vial were poured into her gaping mouth. She went to gag and spit it out, but the monster that stabbed her clamped its hand over her mouth and nose. Before she lost consciousness she swallowed it; Heimdall could see the defeat in her eyes.

It was there where his vision went fuzzy before she simply disappeared from his sight.

"_HEIMDALL!" _a voice calls out to him.

The Gatekeeper does not turn around to face the maiden. He hears her running feet, the rustle of her skirt, and panicked pants. It is another trick of his mind. They are all plagued with the thoughts of her.

"_Heimdall!"_ _the Princess grabs him and forces him to look at her. Her large blue eyes are full of tears; the make-up that painted her soft face is ruined by their tracts._ _"Heimdall, you must tell the AllFather that my love is not a murderer! What he's done he did to save me! You know this; you saw this! Please, Heimdall."_

"_A life for a life, Princess. He killed a noble man and thus he too must meet his end."_

"_To SAVE me! Ask Thor; he knows. He's always known! Please… you must. I… I can't lose him." The Princess of Asgard crumbles to her knees, knuckles white with a tight grip enclosed around his dark hands. A princess should never kneel and beg from someone such as him._

"_Please," she whimpers her once strong stance falters into nothing but a whimpering and begging damsel. She looks up at him, eyes red and swollen with the never-ending tears. "Please, Heimdall. I love him for all that I am – you know of our meetings and how much we mean to each other."_

_She was going to run away with him. She was going to live how she wanted without her crown and royalty. She was going to live in a realm that didn't know her, in a small cottage on a hill, and have his children._

_She knew she would never see her mother and father again. Nor would she see her beloved brothers: Thor and Loki. She didn't care, so long as she spent the rest of her days with her lovely stable boy._

Heimdall will never forget that; her faltering form. Her falling to her knees, her hands tightly holding onto his, and her pleading eyes. She cried many days and nights after the stable boy's execution. She fell into silence; refusing to talk to anyone, which included her brothers.

Golden, unreadable eyes close as the memory becomes too much. That's when he sees something – a glimpse of kicking black heels and arms covered in a bright red coat.

A silver key under red and black lays in Midgard.

* * *

**A/N:**** *cheshire cat-like grin* So~ how was it? Tessa got kidnapped, interrogated by Nick Fury (whom she doesn't know yet), nearly starved, and discovered a new (handsome) fan. I for one can see Steve being all cute and modest and blushing in front of her - someone he admires. Thus far, it being celebrity admiration. I am doing my absolute best to remain nutural. The Tessa/Loki feels will hopefully be there in the next chapter and upcoming ones.**

**Key:  
**2) I'm fairly certain that I didn't mention this before, but I've seen a picture on Tumblr of Amber Heard (who's the face claim for Tessa and the Princess) dressed as "Thora," which spurred this whole story onward (please note that "Thora" will NOT – under any circumstances – be the Princess's name). Anyway, she's wearing armor that's striking similar to Thor's but is FAR MORE feminine – complete with thigh high boots and short skirt. So that's the armor Frigga sews together.  
And, if you look closely at the above picture, you can see Thor and Tessa standing side-by-side dressed in their armor.

**Answers to reviews:**

**Amy (Guest) -** This chapter was so fun and heartbreaking to write. Fun, because I made Steve a fan of hers and I thought that to be so adorable. Heartbreaking, due to what happened in Asgard with Heimdall.  
*grins sheepishly* So you see my delima? Lol

**Allanna Stone -** NO PROBLEM!

**DarkessKnightStarLady -** :D Thank you so much for your kind words, it really means a lot to me. Is there anything you love specifically (just curious). YES! *punches the sky* I have another vote! xD I will do my absolute best. Please, keep the reviews coming!

****VOTE COUNT:****  
Steve- 2  
Lokie- 0

**Next chapter's title:  
The Devil has Curved Horns**


	7. The Devil has Curved Horns

**A/N: ****After many a time, I FINALLY figured out what to call this chapter. Sadly, my recently discovered "theme" is broken. I'll live though. I ALMOST called it "Long Legs," because I wanted Tony to show up in the chapter.  
****He isn't. However, he is mentioned…in the most interesting way. ;) I now have the title you see before you. I like the title and the chapter; it's pretty funny. (And it has an adorable Steve and Tessa moment – right where I left off with you guys.)**

**So before I get started, I'm gonna do some explaining. _PoA_ isn't only on FanFiction; it's, also, on a site called Archive of Our Own. There the voting is held, too. And after poking the hornets' nest that is Loki's army the votes are now at:  
***VOTE COUNT:***  
Loki- 4  
Steve- 3**

**Remember you can only vote ONCE! There are no exceptions. I've planned ahead and there are two outcomes - I will not say them either. So please, continue to give me your votes. After a certain number of chapters, I'll let you guys know when the voting will stop and who Tessa will be paired with. After which, I hope you all will continue to read and enjoy the adventures she'll face. **

**It's now time for thanks. Thank you to echoi5004 and sieni1, your votes are very much appreciated and I hope you will continue to read and leave reviews. And here are some thanks to my new story followers: Michyo61, Ruri7533 (who also favored this story), blind-bandit95, and bluephoenix65069 (a favorite-er and follower of this story and myself). **

** Anyway, let me know what you guys think and please don't forget to review and vote!**

**Ch. 7****: The Devil has Curved Horns**

"I'm a fan."

Such three simple words, and yet I feel like everything's going to be okay. I know that there are crazy, psycho fans out in the world (who've I met), but Steve can't be one of them. He looks too genuine.

I lean forward in attempt to look into his eyes, smiling. "Really? How did that come about?" I all but forget about the food between us as I try to look at him.

"Um, I don't know when exactly, but it's called _Swing_. It…it, um, I found it comforting." He's looking everywhere around me, never looking at me.

"How so?"

"It was mostly the time it was set in." he shrugs, taking a rather large bite of an eggroll.

I raise a brow at him. He found a movie to be set in the 1940s comforting? Well, I guess it beats medieval times, peasant life in the Revolutionary war, horror films, and other "grown up" movies I've been a part of.

"And then there's the love between Ron and Jessica," I perk up at his words, knowing that _Swing_ is a love movie but there's also World War II as a backdrop. "Despite the war and everything Ron faced on a daily and nightly basis, he still kept thinking about her." Steve lets out an airy chuckle.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

"C'mon, you're a fan! You have to tell!"

He looks up at me smiling innocently with his light blush still on his face. "There's no arguing with you, is there?"

I shake my head smiling. "Nope!"

"There are just…some of my," Steve looks away, trying to think of the right word to come next, "co-workers have been poking fun at the fact that I have been watching _Swing _for a while now." If it's possible, his blush intensifies to a bright red.

"You like it that much?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't call me "ma'am;" you're making me sound like my mom."

A certain look passes over his face once I say that; his blush leaves, his brows scrunch together, and a small frown tugs at his lips. Taking a quick bite of the peace offering, I tilt my head in confusion at his sudden change in expression.

"You okay?" I ask, talking around the chop-sticks in my mouth.

"Yes, but…, Tessa," he looks up at me now, "is it true that you're adopted?"

I blink, my brows knit together in confusion. Steve told me he is a fan, and yet he asks me this? I've mentioned the lack of my true parental heritage numerous times in the past.

"Well, yeah. I…I am adopted and I don't know where or who my real parents are. I've tried to find them in the past, but to no avail." I stare off past his wide shoulder, no longer paying any real attention to anything around me. "Over twenty-five years ago, my parents – Abraham and Rosabella Maberry – found me on the side of the road. You know there was a thunderstorm when they found me, right, and I was in a puddle no less, too? Every time I think about it I hate them more and more. They didn't even have the common decency to wrap me in a baby blanket or even drop me off at a hospital or church! They only wrapped me up in a thin, white night gown."

My voice is no long my own; it's cold and full of absolute hate.

The lights around us dim and flicker.

"The only thing that was left from them is this necklace," my hand falls to the sterling silver, diamond key hanging from my neck. I look up at him with an empty stare. "I don't know why I keep it; I just do. It has become a part of me almost. With everything that has happened to me – from my birth parents leaving me to die to now – I've rarely taken it off."

Despite my cold undertone, Steve smiles at me with kindness in his eyes. "I know. But," he loses his kind expression, "you honestly don't know?"

I shake my head. "No idea."

"And…that moment today?"

My eyes are looking up at him in a flash. I press my thumb along the chopsticks, feeling the smooth wood slowly bend and crack with the increasing amount of pressure. My jaw tenses as I resist the urge to yell and scream at him. A form of bitterness bubbles to life inside of me; so he's a bad cop in disguise.

"As I've told Mr. One Eye, I don't know." My words are like fire and venom. "Had I known I would've said so, so I wouldn't have to deal with all of this."

The lights are flickering angrily all around.

Steve looks down, like I've just kicked him.

_Poor puppy._

"I'm sorry, Miss Maberry. I didn't mean to—"

I shove the would-be peace offering towards him. My blue eyes are like daggers as I glare at him. "You should be. Are you a performing monkey, Steve Rogers? Is that why you've come here with this," – I gesture to the box of Chinese food – "is that why you said you're a fan, or how about the nice guy act?"

There's a distinct _pop _sound from somewhere below, which is quickly followed by yelling. The lights above Steve and I are burning brightly; they even start to make a buzzing sound from the intensity.

He looks around us frantically.

Everything, but him, is fading away. Just like with Dr. Goodwin, I'm only focusing on Steve. "Just who the hell do you think you are, Rogers?"

"Tessa," he looks at me with concern. He opens his mouth, but the voice that sounds is not his.

"Miss Maberry," I glare at Mr. One Eye, nearly growling at his calm demeanor.

"What?" I spat.

"You're free to go."

"What?" my voice is soft, dripping with skepticism. I lean away from him, pressing myself against the glass walls and away from Steve.

"Do I need to paint her Majesty a picture? You can go home now. You're no longer a prisoner."

Steve stands and walks up to him. "Director," so that's who Mr. One Eye is. He and Steve mumble things to each other, looking away from me.

I glance back and forth as they talk; wishing I knew what they were talking about. In my peripheral vision I can see the lights slowly stop flickering and buzzing. I can't hear the chopping sound of the four massive blades.

"Miss Maberry," I perk up at the sound of my name. The director motions towards the descending stairs. "Agent Robertson will escort you to the car, if you wish to leave."

With the air of a suck-up celebrity, I stand tall – glaring at both men. "Yes, I do."

Like a scorned teenager, I purposely bump my shoulder with Steve's bicep as I walk around him to walk down the steps. I carefully walk down the grate, steel steps. I don't look down at my feet; knowing that the illusion will be broken if I do.

There's a sudden rush of footsteps behind me. "Tessa!"

I look over my shoulder, glaring up at Steve (totally ignoring how tall and well-defined he is). "What?" I growl. I'm almost out of here, can't he leave me alone?

"I…," his voice grows soft as he nears my face, blue eyes full of earnest emotion, "I really didn't want to ask such a personal question or make you revisit something you wish you hadn't. It's just that I…I had—"

Against my better judgment I turn to him and place a hand on his shoulder. Despite my kind act to silence him, my tone of voice is sharp, "I know. You were just following orders." My hand falls into my coat's pocket as a very small smile tugs at my lips. "Just know that if you continue to follow those orders blindly, I may come back and order you to stay with me. Forever. Do you understand?"

A knowing, broad smile takes up most of Steve's face, which causes his cheeks to become a rosy pink and my smile to widen. "Yes, ma'am." He nods an adorable gleam in his pretty eyes.

I nod once, saying "Very well, then," before turning away from him and walk down the steps. When I'm at the bottom of the steps and take back my purse from Robertson, I turn to look back up. "Rogers," I call out.

"Yes?" I see him peak down the steps.

I point up at him, telling him, "Do not mistake that little exchange as forgiveness; I'm still very pissed off at you. Remember that if we ever meet up again." Even though my words and tone are serious, a small smirk reveals itself on my lips. It is amazing I can play serious roles in some films.

His adorable smile shows itself again. "I will."

"Good. Now," I turn to the agent, "take me home, Jives."

The walk to the outside of the helicarrier is silent; the rapid typing seems soft now and less frantic and people aren't talking or barking out orders. All the sounds that I first heard are either non-existent or have softened remarkably. Despite the workers looking at their computer screens, I can feel multiple pairs of eyes on me. Eager to get out I walk a step ahead of Robertson forcing my breathing to stay as regular as possible.

I scan my gaze hurriedly over everything; catching glances of others and computer screens. Just before I step out of the helicarrier, I notice that everyone has the same insignia on their uniforms. On a light blue – nearly silver – circular badge (nearly shield like) there's the silhouette of a bird of prey.

_These aren't normal cops._

Agent Robertson opens the car door for me, and I keeping my head down as I slide in.

…

The driver, Robertson, and I spend the ride in silence. Robertson looks ahead of himself; staring holes into the back of the front seat. I watch as the woods turn to city, which turns to suburbs. The car slows as it nears my apartment. My side of the car is locked, for "special" reasons no doubt, but I'm allowed out.

My mouth falls and a squeak rips past my lips at the sight of my car sitting in the driveway. I rush over to it to search for any internal or external damage. Thankfully, it's still sleek, shiny, and has that new car smell. My relief is short lived.

"How in the hell did you—" I bark as I spin around to face him.

Already the black car is speeding away.

Huffing, I wish out my keys. "Freaks."

I glance at the trees and bushes hoping – no, pleading! – that the paparazzi won't come jumping out of them. They've done that at the start, and still do at some points in my career, now they'll be swarming at my front door. I'm surprised that they weren't even waiting for me here.

_Come to think of it, there hasn't been much of anybody._

I look up and down the street; searching for a sign of life. My neighbors aren't on their lawns, the kids aren't screaming and laughing, and the dogs aren't barking. Even the birds refuse to make a tweet. Goosebumps rise along my arms and legs and up my back.

_Something feels… off._

With each step I take towards the front door, I sweep my eyes back and forth and straining my ears to search for a sign of life. My key isn't a mere inch from the doorknob's keyhole, before it's thrown open and I'm stumbling backwards with a tight grip around my person. Seeing a pink stream within a mass of dark brown I slowly pat Madison's back.

"Hey…, Madi." I sheepishly say with a cheesy grin.

She rips away from me with a blaze in her eyes and teeth bared. "Where have you been?! I've been calling you and texting you nonstop since this afternoon! I left, like, a hundred messages… each! Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you?" she examines my arms, moving them in every direction to get better looks at them.

"I'm fine," my arms slide out of her grasp, "but I'd rather not we have this discussion outside." I whisper to her as I slip inside.

As Madi shuts the door behind she says, "Mr. Stark let me go after what he saw on the news. And once I saw your car in the driveway I thought you'd be home – you weren't. Where'd you go?"

I hear her words and I feel the concern coming off of her in waves, but I can't bring myself to answer. I take off my shoes and hang my jacket on the coat rack all rather robotically, thinking of a way to answer her without telling her the overall truth.

"I went to the hospital." I finally tell her. "They ran all these types of tests on me and, before that really, I called to have my car towed back here. I'll cover the bills."

Thankfully, she nods. The concern, however, is still there.

"You're sure you're okay?"

I nod, a sudden exhaustion overcoming me. "Yeah, everything just took a lot out of me today. I'm gonna go ahead and fall asleep early."

"Alright, but if you get hungry I made some food." She jerks her thumb over to the kitchen. I smile when I see that she's been so worried about me; when she's worried about anything she either cooks _a lot_ of food or cleans in entire house. The kitchen just looks like a small tornado hit the area.

"Thanks, I'll probably wake up in the middle of night to eat something." I tell her as I walk backwards to my room.

"Okay."

Just before I turn around, I hear her mumble; "Now I get to clean all~ this up. Yay, me."

I can't help but chuckle and shake my head.

Gently shutting my bedroom door behind me, I sigh and lean back against it. I just let the day's events play through my head as I try to figure out how this happened. I have a relatively fast metabolism and I could always heal fast….

_But this,_ I think looking down at my arm, _this is just weird._

I strip down to my bra and panties, before flopping down on my bed. Remaining laying down, I rearrange myself so my head is cradled by my feather filled pillows. Once again, I have failed to close my curtains. I just can't bring myself out from under my covers and lift my head. Coming to the conclusion that if I don't look at it, it will all be okay.

Sleep comes to me soon after and I'm once again taken away in dreams.

This dream isn't like the others. I can… feel it. See it, too. There are long, tall golden halls with ionic pillars standing strong below to hold it up and allow me to look at the greenery. I don't though. I continue to walk down the halls, the echoing sounds of my heeled shoes bouncing off the walls. There's a tug in my chest and a whisper in my ear. Both are telling me to walk.

Just walk. Not to think or wonder where I'm going – just walk.

I know I'm not dressed like I normally am. The sleeves run down to my wrists in a constricting satin fabric with a large skirt brushing against the hard flooring. My hands are folded in front of me and my hair is twisted away from my face. The sounds of metal against metal and loud laughter ring in my ears and a smile reaches my lips.

A motherly voice calling a name causes my lips to frown and sigh to leave past them. I can feel the course of my destination change towards the motherly voice. The sound of clashing metal and loud laughter is slowly replaced with the sound of nothingness.

Tiny hairs on my neck and arms rise up; I look behind myself. There's nothing there. However, once I turn back to walk, a cold hand slips into mine and holds it tight. Looking up I only see a tall silhouette of a curved-horned man.

_I know those horns._

The horned man rips me away and runs down a secret corridor. We're laughing, chuckling, and giggling and trying to shush each other miserably. We hide behind of the pillars and the tapestries, covering the other's mouth to stifle our giggles. The horned man looks out from our hiding spot, he tugs on my hand and we continue running down the hall.

Our rushing feet are replaced with galloping hooves – we're riding on horseback across rolling green hills. We each have our own steed; his is a chestnut stallion and mine a white-gray mare. We're still laughing, now uncontrollably since we're free to do so.

Next, we're under a tree. It's massive shadow over us and our horses. My back is against the bark and the man's head in my lap – his helm off, next to us. I brush my fingers in his hair as he reads from a book; the words soft on the wind.

"_And yet I love her," he reads, his smooth voice like honey to my ears, "till the day I die." _(3)He continues the read the lovely poem, his tone of voice slowly changing. Then, he reads a different romantic poem.

Ever so slowly do the marvelous chirping birds (they don't seem that annoying here), turn into obnoxious robotic beeps. I open my eyes and I'm not in a field of rolling green hills under a massive tree. I'm in my room, curled under the blankets, with my alarm clock blasting out continuous beeps. Groaning, I shut my eyes and my arm leaves the warmth to find the button that will turn off the alarm.

It's when I slam my hand down is when the beeping stops. I quickly bring my cold arm back under the safety of the blankets. I can't find sleep again though. Whether it is due to my alarm clock that magically set itself or the sunlight streaming in through my windows, I don't know. So I lay here, for several hours opening and closing my eyes to find sleep again and thinking of my dream. I know Madi already when out to work, so I can't ask her what she thinks it means. And no one else can interrupt them better than she can.

Rolling onto my back I stare blankly at the ceiling. I can still see the man; his silhouette a stark contrast to the white paint. His curved horns ever prominent.

"I know I've seen that man before." I whisper to myself.

_But where?_

Tearing my quilt off my bed I wrap it around myself and walk out of my room. I really should invest in one of those Snuggies if I'm gonna strip down to just my bra and panties. I stop at the hallway's threshold though; remembering what happened just yesterday late afternoon.

"Shit!"

Quickly, like a deer, I run back to my room and shut the blinds. Throwing my quilt over my bed I throw open my wide closet and pick out random sets of clothing. Not truly caring if anything matches. Something is better than nothing.

Straining my ears and cautiously I walk down the dark, short hall. I poke my head out of the threshold and look at all the windows for several minutes. Hoping that my peripheral vision will catch something while I look somewhere else. I know something's not right; I can feel it.

With a calming sigh I straighten my back and walk out to the kitchen. I can smell the bacon and eggs in the air; she was nervous this morning too. I squeal in delight once I see not the two breakfast foods, but also Tater Tots. I make a large plate and reheat it in the microwave. In that short time I walk over the windows near our front door and glance out. A frown tugs at my lips when I see the bushes move, crouched people in baggy black jackets, and my car is missing. Madi took my only means of escape. Damn her.

I turn back to the kitchen, ignoring the hushed whispers and snap shots, when the microwave is finished. Glancing down at the counter table I see a note. It reads, in quick jerky script:

_Beware going outside! The monsters are out there now!_

_ ~Madi_

"Thanks, Madi." I say with a semi-sarcastic wit. "What would I do without you?" I toss the note over my shoulder, inwardly cheering when I hear it go into the trash bin. Curling up on the Lazy Boy recliner, I turn on the TV. While, steering clear of any type of news. And that's how I spend the rest of the day; calling my parents to ease their parental nerves, calling Fred to calm him down, watching movies, eating lots of food, and not stepping a toe outside.

It's when I hear my car rolling up our short driveway – and the mod of flashing cameras and muddled shouts – do I look up from my bowl of ice cream. A frazzled Madison steps through the door with a tired sigh.

Licking off the Bunny Track residue from my lips, I smile at her. "Hey."

She nods in my direction, tossing her purse down and kicking off her shoes. "Hey."

A grin rises to my lips. "How was work today?"

"Hell," she glares at me, knowing that I know. "My co-workers kept bugging and corning me. Mr. Stark even called me into a meeting! You know how terrified I was? Thankfully, he took the news very well and made a joke of it. After that no one really talked to me."

"Joke… how?"

"Oh just that you're a Barbie doll version of Thor?"

"Thor?" I twist myself so that I can look at her more clearly as she walks into the kitchen. "I remembered to leave food for you by the way."

"Thanks. And Thor is one of the Avengers – those guys that saved New York, and the world, a few months back. The tall scruffy faced guy with the blonde hair and red cape." She makes motions with her hands on how tall he is, the hair on his face and head, and the long cape. She quickly takes out her dinner and sets up a plate, before setting it in the microwave.

I blink owlishly. "He's called me Barbie before, but not that. I can't believe I remind him of a blonde alien dude. Hm, at least Thor's a badass superhero."

"Good lookin', too."

"Gross." I say, turning back to the screen.

The microwave dings and Madi is soon seated with me. "Oh, come on! You dated plenty of men with scruff."

"And how long did they last?"

There's a brief pause, before she answers. "Not long. What are we watching by the way?"

"Exactly, I can't stand the short brittles. They hurt if I kissed his cheek or if he kissed me. And I have no idea; I've been mostly channeling surfing the last few hours."

"Oh," she tilts her head, "at least it's funny." She takes a large bite of her dinner. "I guess that's good. I don't have to worry about you sleeping with Mr. Stark."

"ONE TIME!" I shout, disgusting goose-bumps rising up on my arms and legs. "It was one fucking time! And we were both drunk! I have to shower."

I can hear her evil smirk growing on her lips. "Isn't that what you guys did in the shower?"

I scream, shaking some of the portraits on the walls, as I slam the bathroom door shut. The shower nozzle is spun until the water is steaming hot. After getting fresh towels and a washcloth, I angrily tear off my lazy mismatched clothes and hop in. Rubbing my skin until it's pink; I can't help but think of what happened so long ago.

Tony Stark, much many times before, threw a party. For what reason, I don't know. He just did for the say of having another party. We (I more so unknowingly) had a drinking contest. As the party grew to a close, he and I started talking. Both of us were decently drunk – him more than I, but he'd deny it each and every time. We both kept drinking and drinking until we had to lean against each other for support to stand up. I ignored the voice screaming in my head when he asked me to join him upstairs. After we bypassed the bed completely, we settled for the shower. You can imagine what transpired after that. Then, the bed. (4)

Thankfully, he doesn't know I know Madi very well and that we live together.

Up until this point, we've never spoke of it. Tony and I never even spoke of it again – we flirt, but we don't speak of IT.

Wrapping the large, fluffy towel around me I prance to my room and dress in my Eeyore pajamas. I send an evil glare to my roommate and harshly whisper, "We do not speak of it!"

She lets out a loud laugh, before going into her room.

When I lock my door, I hear Madi walk out of hers and into the bathroom. The shower head spewing water out soon becomes white noise and I'm crawling up my bed to pull my curtains down. After which, I look at my cell phone again.

_Mom: Sure, sweetie, stay as long as you like! :)_

_Tessa: Thx, Mom. I'll b there ASAP 2morrow._

I twist my body so that I can search under my bed. "Ah-ha!" I shout, whipping out my Norse Mythology book. I wiggle under my covers and flip through the pages; searching for the long, curved horns. I'm only a few pages in when I spot a hunched over man, dressed in black and green and gold, with a sneer on his face, and a golden horned helm on his head. On the next page, just above the text, it reads: LOKI.

"Loki…." The name sounds familiar as it falls from my lips. I lean back and close my eyes, picturing the illustration and the silhouette from my dream. "Loki…." The colors melt into the silhouette, filling everything up in the proper places. The cartoon illustration is soon gone and a tall, menacing man is at the forefront of my mind. "Loki…. Little Loki." I smile at the nickname I came up with. I can feel sleep pulling at me, burning my eyes and urging them to stay shut. "Who exactly are you, Little Loki?"

**~ Asgard ~**

"_Loki…. Loki…. Loki…." _The gentle voice whispers knitting her fingers in dark hair.

Loki lays back in his cell – hands knitted together on his stomach and back uncomfortably straight on the stiff bed. Yet, he can feel the warm spring sun on his face and the soft breeze brushing thin strands of hair across his face. If it's his hair, or the maiden's above him, he doesn't know. He doesn't care to open his eyes and ruin the moment.

"_Little Loki."_ Her voice is soft; he can hear and feel her now. _"Who exactly are you, Little Loki?"_

The illusion is broken when he opens his eyes.

"I am Loki," he starts, his voice soft and unused, "the God of Lies and Mischief. I am Loki; whose whim brought Asgard crashing down. I am Loki, whose tongue was an anvil where the sharpest lies were forged. I am Loki, and I have things to say that you must know.

"I am Loki, who you must not trust."

Loki Laufeyson (if he does wish to take that last name) is a form of demon, and his horns are curved.

* * *

**A/N:**** What did you guys think? :) Did you guys find THAT new bit of info as funny as I did?**

**Key:  
**3) This actually IS a poem. It's called _There is a Lady Sweet and Kind _by Anonymous, and is read by Tom Hiddleston. You can hear on youtube – again and again and again.

4) I'll answer the question now, yes, Tessa and Tony had sex. And yes, I know Tony's about forty-three years old and Tessa's twenty-five. (It did happen years ago, too.) I don't know how it happened, it just _did_. When I wrote the "ick, on scruffy faced men" bit that part just came out. I find it absolutely hilarious! Don't worry; Tessa will still end up with either Steve or Loki. And the Tony issue won't have a BIG impact on the story; I just found it funny. Can you imagine them being together? Hahaha.  
(Mind you, I LOVE scruffy faced men! … and smooth faced men.)

**Answers to reviews:**

**Allanna Stone - **Thank you! ^_^ Lol Me, too. Or any pretty woman that talks to him one-on-one now that I think about it.

**echoi5004 (Guest) -** YES! A vote for Loki! Thank you!

**Amy (Guest) -** *covers mouth, squealing* I know! I loved writing it, too. I'm trying to make Tessa different than the Princess, but still have that...sorta princess-type feel. Ya' know?  
*bangs forehead on desk* Damn. *whines* That's why I can't choose! *sighs*

*****VOTE COUNT:*****  
**Loki- 4**  
**Steve- 3**

Remember, this site is in competition with Archive of Our Own and you can only vote _ONCE_. Even if you go to the later site and vote, it will still only count as one.

**Next chapter's title:  
Parental Guidance is Found in Nightmares**


	8. Parental Guidance is Found in Nightmares

**A/N:**** Am I the only one who thinks the preimere of "THOR 2: The Dark World" should've been on a THORSday? Get it? I think that would highly amusing. xD Sadly, I will not be seeing this movie anytime soon - school. I'm hoping that it'll still be in theaters by mid-December. *crosses fingers*  
We'll see.**

**Time for thanks! I'd first like to thank my new followers: Amy95200, LoveFollowsMe, murrinwallace, Aleiaa, and Katie Loom. Now, I'd like to thank the new people who've favored PoA: Katie Loom and Nashira Kozoroh. I find it truly amazing that there are so many people that are reading and enjoying this story - and not only being in the States. Knowing people across the sea are liking is...awe inspiring. :)**

**Since I've last updated, the votes have grown exponentially! We have exactly reached double digits (yet), but we're close.  
The ***VOTE COUNT*** is now:  
Loki- 7  
Steve- 3  
I'm very interested in seeing where this story will go.**

****WARNING!**  
There is a multitude of new OCs, massive FORESHADOWING, and the need to add dramatic music (as my beta reader told me). It's nothing major, just thought I'd give you guys/gals a heads up.**

**Read, enjoy, and review/vote!**

**Ch. 8:** **Parental Guidance is Found in Nightmares**

"You're up early."

"Hm?" I look up from my bowlful of Fruit Loops to see a befuddled Madi walking down the dark corridor dressed in her crinkled Tinkerbelle pajamas.

"How is it that you don't get pillow-head hair?" she asks, looking through the blank white refrigerator.

"I dunno." I say with a shrug, brushing back a golden lock. "I guess I was just born this way. You workin' today?"

"Nope! Ah-ha! Here they are." She takes out a package of lunch meat, cheese, an egg, and a bagel from the freezer. With those she starts to make a breakfast sandwich.

"Do you think you could get a ride with a co-worker or friend? I'm gonna be spending some time with my parents and let this whole thing settle down."

"Sure! And if not, I'll call the taxi service. I'm shocked you didn't go yesterday." She takes the now defrosted bagel out of the microwave and places the slices in the toaster. While, she's taking care of her sunny-side up egg on the stove.

"Well, somebody took my car yesterday!" I grumble over a spoonful of loopy cereal.

She lets out a nervous laugh. "Sorry, but they kinda surprised me. I had to think fast."

"And left me stranded." I sigh. "On the up side I took care of the overstocked food issue."

"That's true." She sighs as she sits down in the living room, crossing her legs Indian style on our light purple L-shaped sofa. She turns on the news – my eyes glance to the screen when I hear my name – she quickly changes it to something else. "Do you think you'll be back in time for the party Mr. Stark will be throwing? An invite will be coming soon. I heard your name, too."

I visibly cringe at the name. Thankfully, Madi's too preoccupied with the television screen to notice. Good. "How long 'til then?"

"About a week."

Blowing a raspberry, I look up at the ceiling. Hoping that'll it'll give me some answers. There's bound to be paparazzi at the party; dazzling lights and numerous shouts over another. Red velvet ropes and a matching carpet leading to the front door. Gaudy crystal chandeliers will be hanging from the ceiling. Long tables will be on either side of the room draped in white with an array of food and a bar behind them. Music will be going on the entire night – not the prom stuff though.

_And if I don't go – if I'm even invited – Tony will find a way to annoy the shit outta me._

"Alright, if I get an invite I'll go. Hopefully by then this Barbie She-Hulk incident will be over with and we can get on with our lives."

"Yay!" She punches the air. Looking over the back of the couch she grins at me. "Just don't get too dru—"

"NAH!" I point my spoon at her. "Don't say it! Don't repeat it! Don't even whisper it! Or any combination of the sort! It was a long time ago, and we were drunk. You weren't even working for him then. And neither of us ever mentioned it to the press, so," I push out of the kitchen chair, put my dishes in the dishwasher, "I'm gonna get ready and leave."

I walk to my room with a straight back and stiff legs. The last couple of weeks have been hell (not being able to work with this scar on my arm, the car incident that happened yesterday, and now Madison bring up what happened years ago), I don't need all this stress. I'll be a silver vixen for sure in the next few years if this continues.

After stripping out of my pajamas, I put on the necessary underwear and take out my duffle bag. Throwing open my large closet I gaze over the multitude of clothes. I lick my lips, searching for something suitable for farm-wear. I fold and stuff old T-shirts and tank tops, jeans, socks, underwear, pajamas, and other necessities into my bag. Strutting over to my closet, with my hands on my hips, I look for an outfit to wear.

"Hmm…. Oh! This'll do!" I throw a plain red tank top with a subtle metallic gleam and dark blue, low-rise boot-cut jeans. Shutting my closet I pull on my shirt and jeans, and I walk to my dresser drawer to pull out a brown leather belt. "You sure were easy to find." I grin as I weave it through the loops on my jeans. Now that I'm dressed and my shoes are by my bedroom door, I clean my room and make my bed. Opening the curtains last, I smile at the warmth of the sun.

Humming a soft tune, I walk towards one of my dressers and open the drawer that holds a multitude of purses – from thick strapped bags to fine clutches. While smiling, I take out a neutral colored crochet tote bag. The tassels flop uselessly once it lands on my freshly made bed. I quickly move everything from yesterday's purse to this one. Tossing the other into the drawer I shrug the thick, belt-like strap onto my shoulder. After successfully shoving on my brown, full-grain leather boots on when I'm outside my room, I walk out to the main room.

"I'm heading out," I say, taking my straw cowboy hat off the coat rack near the door. "I'll be back in, like, a week. Before the party for sure."

"Tessa," Madi calls.

Turning around I see her coming up to me with a look of sorrow etched on her face.

"You know I was only joking, right? I didn't mean to sound like a bi—"

I cut her by waving my hand dismissively in the air. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it." I gently press my loose fist into her jaw – a mock hit, telling her to buck up. "I'm a tough cookie, I can handle it. 'Sides we've known each other too long to let something like that come between us. Sisters before misters, right?"

"Right." She lightly laughs. "Nothing can come between us."

She needs reassurance. I know. Despite all the shit we've been through together sometimes we both need to know that the other will always be there for the other.

"Nothing," I tell her, "even if one of us has to live in a galaxy far, far away. And even then I'll be thinking about you, my dear sweet sister." I wrap my free arm around her shoulders. "I'll catch ya' later. Text me if you need!" With that said I go out into the shark tank.

I'm instantly bombarded with white flashing lights and loud voices coming at me from every direction. All I hear is my name over and over again; each reporter, paparazzi person begging for answers. I keep my head down and toss my luggage into the back and passenger seat. _I shoulda put on my sunglasses._

"Tessa, where are you going?"

"Tessa, are you fleeing the country?"

They all ask – each question is slowly blending together. I quickly slide into my car – forcing myself to leave the roof up – and plop my hat down on top of my purse. My fingers move fluidly as the pick up the keys and turn them in the ignition. However, I have to slowly back out of our drive way; gently nudging people with the car's rear end. I'm sure people will I brutally hit them with it and get a lawsuit, but it's not my fault they didn't move out of the way.

Finally, I'm out of our short driveway and more or less speeding down the rural road. Thanking whatever deity is watching me that everyone stays off the road. Once I come to a four-way stop sign, and no one is around, I fish out my iPhone and call my parents.

"Hello?" answers my mom; her once heavy Italian accent nearly lost.

"Hey, Mom, I just wanted to let you know I'll be over in a few hours. That okay? Do you need me to get anything while I'm out?" Despite not living with them anymore, and in another state, I always ask if they need me to get anything before I get there. Hell, I carry more than enough money on me.

I put her on speaker as I roll away from the stop, carefully putting my phone on my lap.

"Hi, _tesoro_!" she coos in Italian. Her sweet voice is nearly lost over the sound of a barking dog. "_Grazie_, for the update. You don't need to get us anything – we're good here. Drive safely."

"Alright, I will. _Ciao__, __ti amo__._"

"_Ciao, ti amo_."

Glancing down, I end the call and carefully place my cell back in my bag.

Growing up in a house with parents that spoke both Italian and English was truly a blessing; although at the time I didn't know it. I thought everyone's mom and dad spoke two different languages. My mom, Rosabella, was a traveler in her younger years, but was born and raised in Milan, Italy. She often spoke in Italian when I was a child. In order to communicate with her and her family, my dad, Abraham, learned how to speak it. Growing up in that type of environment, I learned both English and Italian.

…

I stay away from any rural roads on my drive for as long as possible, until I must go under high and curved trees. Their shadows cover the asphalt in blurred silhouettes. I know this road like I know the back of my hand; thus, my mind begins to wonder. I rethink of everything that happened two days ago. My hands tighten around the steering wheel until my knuckles are white and my fingertips are bright red.

I desperately wish that I punched Mr. One Eye and kicked him in his balls. How awesome would that be? Or even if I just spat in his face. Gawd, I wish I did SOMETHING to him before I left. Something tells me that if I did that, he'd hurt me far worse than I could. There are moments like this where I wish I had an older brother to do those types of things.

Sadly, my mom is unable to have children.

My grip lessens and a broad grin spreads across my lips when I spot the three handprints covering the mailbox – a large red one (Dad's), a thin blue one (Mom's), and a small purple one (mine). I turn into the long, narrow dirt path and I'm nearly bouncing in my seat. Turning off the stereo, I'm greeted with the sounds of barking dogs, oinking pigs, clucking chickens, moaning cows, neighing horses, and clashing metal.

Pulling up to the tall, white paneled farm house, I see my old friend – Buddy – barking. Mom walks up to the screen door, drying her hands. Her lips widen into a smile once she sees me getting out of the car.

"_Ciao, Mamma!_" I shout, waving at her while slinging on my duffle bag.

"_Ciao,_ _tesoro!_" she says opening the door. Buddy comes running down the few wooden steps, fanned tail wagging and barking loudly.

"Hi, Buddy!" I coo, falling to my knees and holding out my hands.

Through the foggy blue in his eyes, I can see a glimmer of joy and recognition in them. His spotted tongue laps at my face and he steps left and right, curling between my legs and nuzzling my chest. I laugh at the kisses and affection; I haven't seen him in three months and he still remembers me. I gently pet behind his ears and eagerly on his chest and just above his tail. The old dog crumbles to the ground, whimpering and whining joyfully from the attention.

"You remember me! You remember me!" I say in a high-pitched voice.

Buddy makes a happy whine sound from the back of his throat. His nuzzles to my chest become so powerful I nearly fall backwards. My mom laughs at the sight.

"Okay, okay, okay. Lemme up, Old Man." I groan, giving him a final pet on the head. I reposition my hat on my head and straighten my luggage.

"What are you laughing at?" I ask as I walk up to the house. Buddy is right at my heels, hopping up the short steps.

"Nothing, nothing. Now," my mom opens her arms, "c'mere and hug me!"

I laugh, tightly wrapping my arms around her shoulders. Hers wrap around my waist.

"It's so nice to see you, Tessa." She says into my hair, petting it. We pull apart and she looks me up and down, gazing at my bare arms. "Are you alright?"

"I've been better."

"Come in, put your stuff away, and we'll talk."

"Okay," I quickly slide my hat off and leave it hanging by the door. She and I walk in before Buddy, who follows me until I reach the numerous stairs. He whines from the bottom of them, before the clicking of his nails carry him away from the staircase. The stairs creak under my feet as I ascend them, despite my gentle footfalls. I pass a wall of photos on my way up – them ranging from my parents earlier years together to when I was a late teenager.

I sigh when my bags plop to the foot of my bed, grateful for the weight to be gone. Everything is as I left it; not a blanket or trinket out of place. Unfortunately, I couldn't bring everything with me when I moved. I couldn't take the risk of someone stealing them. Resisting the urge to fall onto my bed, I stuff my cell phone into my pocket and walk back down the steps. My sense of smell is overcome with the scent of lavender tea; I smile a sense of calm wrapping around me.

My mom is walking towards the small kitchen table with delicate tea cups in her hands, steam floating up from each of them. Buddy walks up to me, panting happily. My fingertips graze over his head. Forebodingly I sit next to my mom, resisting the urge to just rest my head on her shoulder and cry. Everything is crumbling and I refuse to be like most young superstars nowadays and go wild.

"Now, Tessa," she says, sitting so close to me I can smell her perfume, "tell me all about it." And with a tight throat and tear filled eyes I tell her everything (lying about being kidnapped; saying men in black wouldn't leave me alone). The mascara I chose to wear leaves burning tracks on my face and my words come out in coherent jumbles of words. From time to time she reminds me to drink my tea; once I do I'm able to talk a little better. Buddy nuzzles my thigh before plopping his head on my lap.

"I…I just don't know what to do." I say after taking a gulp of calming tea.

Her hand messages my shoulder and she kisses my temple. "It's going to die down. Things like this always do – so long as you don't do it again."

"I don't plan to, Mom."

"Then, the best thing you can do is stand tall with a stiff upper lip and make jokes about it." She says grinning.

I smile with her, kissing her cheek. "Thanks, Mom."

"No problem, _tesoro_. Now finish your tea; your Dad has been talking nonstop since your text last night. He wants to go horseback riding with you as soon as possible."

My smile widens at the thought of spending time with him. _Mom always said I was a Daddy's Girl._

"Alright," I say, picking up the porcelain cup, "but we'll talk too, right?"  
"Of course," she says, kissing my crown. "Just remember it works best if you take your time. Isn't your favorite show on soon?"

Looking at the clock on the stove I see that she's right. "Oh, yeah! Thanks!" I carefully push out my chair and take the tea plate and cup to the living room. I instinctively curl up in the corner of the Lazy Boy sofa and turn on the television. The next thirty minutes are spent in front of a television screen with a rarely good Disney show on and sipping lavender tea.

When the cartoon is over and my cup is empty, I get up and return to the kitchen to clean the delicate cup and plate. After gingerly placing them next to the sink, on a paper towel to dry, I run to front door. I rip my hat off the coat rack and burst through the screen door, grinning widely. Now, without any form of dread and ominous on my chest, I feel positively giddy as I run across our large backyard to the large red barn in the distance. The sounds of farm life grow more and more intense; along with my dad shouting and clashing metal striking through the air.

My chest is heaving up and down once I reach the large barn doors. Most of the horse stalls are empty; either they're out in the field or Dad and his students are learning how to joust.

Once I can breathe normally again I let out a low whistle. There's rustling from the middle of the barn and a large tan equine head pokes out from a stall. I laugh and jog up to him, avoiding any barn cats as I do so.

"Hey, boy." I say softly, stroking his long nose.

Spirit is dancing on his hooves and makes happy neighing sounds.

"You wanna go out for a ride?" I nod my head him.

He nods in return, snorting happily.

"Alright, watch out." I open the door for him.

The tall, buckskinned stallion comes prancing out, dancing around me, pushing at my chest and back, and throwing small bucks behind him. I laugh and pet him when I can, telling him how much I missed him and how sorry I am that I haven't visited in a while.

"Okay, okay! I have to get you dressed, silly boy!" I laugh.

"Woah!" I nearly trip when he surprises me by pushing against my back. "Hey!" I whirl around and point at him, voice commanding. "Stop it. We'll have plenty of time to play later."

He doesn't do that again, he merely stands there obediently as I dress him. It's when I'm seated in the saddle does he start neighing and dancing again.

"Alright, c'mon," I turn ourselves around, looking for anything in our path. "He-yah!" I kick back into his sides once I know the path is clear. I hold on tight – jerking back a little at the sudden speed – with a large grin on my face. We run the large girth of the land – jumping and weaving over small obstacles, running side-by-side other horses that are fenced in.

In the past three months, I forgot what it felt like to ride – to feel the large muscles move symmetrically under my legs, moving on top of him, to know what he knows, to work with an animal that has a mind of his own, and to get somewhere with that animal. Judging by how he's running and acting, Spirit feels just as ecstatic as I do. This is exactly what I've needed.

"Hey, Tessa!" someone shouts.

Looking over my shoulder I see a stablehand waving at me; I wave back. "Hey!" I round Spirit and me about and run up to him. Up close I see it's Scruffy Steve.

"You're dad is heard ya' were here; he's lookin' for ya'." He says, scratching his salt and pepper Santa-Claus-like beard. "He's around the Ring."

My face is hurting from all the smiling I've been doing. Now – if it's possible – it widens. "Okay," I turn us around and run to the Ring, "thanks, Steve!"

"No problem! Glad to have you back!"

"Thanks!"

Spirit and I don't encounter much as we ride along the rolling green hills; but people shout, welcome me back, and point to were my dad is. I shout, say thanks, and run ever eagerly to him. The dark fence, brightly colored flags, and shining metal grows more and more obvious as we get closer and closer. One man in particular stands out from the rest. He isn't dressed in highly protective armor like the other men and women, his horse stands calmly under him and isn't dressed from Medieval times, and he's barking orders…corrections from his stallion.

"DAD!" I shout, slowing down to raise one hand up to wave at him.

He whirls around and shouts, "TESSA!"

The large, black Percheron horse sprints up to the fence, practically flying over it when he can. Spirit and I match their gallop; coming to a slow stop when we reach each other. My dad and I lean over and hug each other tightly; he nearly takes me out my seat! People are cheering and banging their shields from the Ring. I don't hear them. All I can hear is my dad's laugh and him telling me how much he missed me. His short auburn scruff leaves a familiar prickling scratch on my cheek as he kisses me.

"I missed you, too, Dad." I tell him, not letting go, kissing his cheek in return. (His and Uncle Pete's scruff are the only ones I'll ever love.) But, like all other things, I must let go. We correct ourselves on our saddles and walk up to the Ring.

"You look good," he says, gray hazel eyes misty and refusing to shed their welling tears. "How have you been? I heard what happened are you okay?"

"Thanks, you look good, too." I smile at him in reassurance. "I've been better, a lot now that I had tea with Mom and got away from New York. If it's only for a little bit. And according to my tests, everything is normal."

"Okay, but are you _okay_?"

I shrug. "I think so. I _hope_ so. I haven't had any other freak accidents."

A stablehand opens the gate for us.

"There aren't any more aliens are there? You guys haven't encountered any of them again, have you?" my dad asks.

"No, I don't think so. I think it'd be kinda hard to miss them if they decided to come back." I shudder at the thought of another wormhole opening up in the sky and aliens pouring out of it. One is enough thank you.

Cheers erupt from the stands and ground, all shouting, "Welcome back, Tessa!"

I laugh and wave at everyone. "Thanks, guys!"

"Tessa!" a male voice cries.

"Uncle Pete!"

Just like my dad, Uncle Pete nearly pulls me out of my seat when his large, grizzly arms wrap around me. He shakes me a little, muttering in my hair.

"Hi, Uncle Pete," I grumble, patting his arm, "I missed you, too. Can you let me go now? I can't breathe."

"Oh, sorry!" he releases me, grinning broadly. "I'm sure Rosa and Abe already asked the normal questions," he begins as the three of us walk towards the stands, "I'll ask the question every one of the boys are DYING to know: You got a boyfriend yet?"

"Pete…." My dad's voice carries a warning tone to it.

I'm unable to help myself, I laugh. After everything that's happened to me so far, I haven't heard that question yet.

"No, Uncle Pete," I answer, shaking my head, "I'm not dating anyone."

"Alright," he grins, a twinkle in his dark brown eyes. "You hear that boys!" his voice rings through the stadium. "She's single!"

Hoots and hollers and banging shields sound throughout the Ring.

I cover my face to hide my growing blush. "Uncle Pete," I groan.

"I can't believe you just pimped out my daughter." I can feel my dad glaring at his older brother, who just laughs jovially.

"She's young, beautiful, smart, and she's ambitious. I'm still surprised that she isn't married."

"You just wanna marry her off 'cause you got a pool going. Luke! Keep your elbow tucked in and your lance straight!"

"Guys," I groan from behind my hand, glancing at the fallen man, "I'm right here. And what pool?"

"Uhh…. Oh, look! Jess needs help, I'll be right back!" Uncle Pete rides off to help with a young woman setting the equipment. It looks like she's managing though.

I look at my dad for answers.

He merely shakes his head. "Don't pay attention to him, Tessa. You wanna go for a ride? Rozzy and Wolf haven't seen you yet, have they?"

When I shake my head he continues, "Okay. I think they're with Nikki. Pete!" he shouts.

"What?!"

"Tessa and I are going to see Nikki! See ya' tomorrow?"

"Sure! See you, Tessa!"

"See you, Uncle Pete!" I wave; despite the fact his back is turned. "Later, everyone!"

"Bye, Tessa!" all the men and women dressed metal chorus.

The same stablehand from before opens and closes the gate for us.

As we ride across the field with the sun washing over us and the wind brushing against our skin, Dad and I fall into conversation. We ask questions that are normally asked in situations like this, such as:

"How are things?"

"How is everyone?"

"Anything new?"

We laugh and we smile, enjoying what we couldn't have gotten for the past three months worth of calls. I missed him – and Mom, Uncle Pete, Spirit, Buddy, Wolfgang, hell even Rozzlin. It's not only the people miss; I miss the wide open land, the wind brushing against my skin without having to worry all the smuck in it, the quiet way everyone wakes up, the smell and taste of freshly made pancakes and bacon (my mom makes the best), and the absolute secure feeling I get when I step foot on the dirt path leading up to the house. All my problems melt away to nothing as I walk through those doors; as I talk about them to my mom. No one, or nothing, can harm me so long as I'm here. I have an army here. I have men and women who know how to joust, I practically have warhorses, I have two badass German dogs, and a mother and father how would kill to protect their only child.

_This is my family; and no one is taking me away from them._

Two large, brown and tan barking dogs break me from my thoughts. Grinning, I hoist myself from Spirit and walk up to the two of them.

"Hey, guys!" I leave my hands down for them to sniff and lick. Unlike Buddy, these two are incredibly goofy (stupid if I want to be mean). But I guess that comes with only being two (Rozzy) and three (Wolf) years old; and being a German breed.

Wolfgang, once he remembers who I am, licks and nuzzles my hand. I scratch the side of his face and behind his ear; he quickly rubs against my thigh. Rozzlin (the ever growing bitch); however, has her upper lip twitching at my offered hand. I watch from the corner of my eye, ready to smack her if she decides to bite.

"Rozzlin," my dad growls from next to Batman, "be nice."

She sniffs the palm of my hand, twitching lip slowly stopping.

My body jerks at her and Wolfgang's sudden tense forms. Simultaneously they look towards the tree line surrounding us, low and dangerous growls resonating from the back of their throats. Their ears are perked up straight and the fur along their spine stands on end. They slowly begin to walk towards the unseeing threat.

I get down to their level, holding onto Spirit's reins, and attempt to see what they see. This is New Jersey; there aren't any wolves, bears, or cougars here. Our land is lined with a tall fence to warn strangers that this is private property. We also have eyes everywhere.

_What could they possibly be growling at?_

I let out a loud yelp when the burst off barking and snarling.

"Tessa!" my dad is at my side in an instant. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I groan, "my butt hurts, but I'm fine." He helps me to my feet.

"Did you see anything?" he asks as we walk up to the jumping dogs, horses in tow.

"No, you?"

I shake my head. "Maybe it's a squirrel."

He nods shortly. "Maybe. Rozzy! Wolf! Come!" he commands, voice booming. We stay away from them, lest they turn on us.

When they don't return, my dad's voice raises an octave. "Rozzlin! Wolfgang! COME!"

I flinch at his tone of voice; glad he never spoke to me like that.

Slowly, against their better nature it seems, they come back to him. They look over their shoulders as they do so. My legs slowly walk up to the tree they were attempting to climb and my hand brushes against its rough, clawed bark. Looking up the tall tree I see…

"Nothing," I say, circling around the tree, "there's nothing here."

"Damn dogs are gonna be the death of me. I'll bring these two dumbasses back to the house. Do you mind checking to see if everyone's squared away?"

"Sure. Same as last time?" I mount Spirit, looking at him.

"Yup." He does the same.

"Then, I'll be back before dinner."

"Okay." He clicks his tongue, saying, "Trot."

I do the same, trotting towards the Ring's shed. Smiling at everyone who walks out, I wait for the last person to come out. Seeing that the Ring is already clean from my post, I leave it be.

Once everything is straight and is in its proper order we trot towards the barn. I keep a wary eye on the sky; noting the stars splattered across the sky. I position myself and give the command to go faster. I bounce and rock back and forth, keeping my back straight and mind calm. If I can just undress Spirit and put him away and make sure everything's set, I can run home.

_Then, I'll be safe. Nothing will hurt me when I'm home._

I quickly undress Spirit, put him away, throw a stack of hay in with him, and check where everything is. A soft meow reminds me that the barn cats need to be fed. I take out the dry cat food and fill a large bowl for all the cats in our barn. I shut and lock the massive doors. I run to the house as if monsters are biting at my heels, shadows grabbing for my legs.

I shakily grab the screen door and pull it open. Letting it fall shut I slam the front door shut and lock it. Ignoring the three barking dogs, I catch my breath.

"It's only Tessa, dumb dogs." My dad mutters under his breath, eyeing me. "Okay, sweetie?"

"Yeah," I push past the three dogs. "Um, has Mom started dinner yet?"

"_Sì_," she chirps, poking through the threshold. "I hope you guys are hungry."

"What are we having?" my stomach suddenly voices how hungry I am; I haven't eaten since breakfast.

"Well, since it's such a special occasion, we're having hot chicken subs with a Tuscan style tomato pasta salad!"

"Yes!" Dad and I cheer, punching the sky. I practically skip into the kitchen, while my dad speedily limps after me. Buddy, Wolfgang, and Rozzlin yip at our sides happily. My dad sits at the head of the table and I instinctively take the one to his left, waiting for the delicious Italian food.

"I'm starving~!" I lick my lips, drooling over the hot sandwich.

"Me, too!" my dad whines like a baby.

"What are you two? Five?"

"Yes," he and I chirp together.

She sighs and shakes her head. "I can't believe what I've gotten myself into."

"Hey," my dad voices, "just remember you chose me."

"And me!" I pipe up, before taking a large bite out of my sandwich.

"And there's my answer." My mom sighs, sitting down and saying grace; ignoring the fact that Dad and I are already eating.

During dinner, it's as if I've never left five years ago. We all talk about what we've been up to and things from the past. Never have I laughed so much; remembering everything I've seen and done when I was younger. Even after dessert and the dishes are put away, when we're in the living room curled up together, we still talk. We talk about random things and serious things – mostly random though. We talk until they start yawning behind their hands.

"Tessa," voices my mom after another long yawn behind her hand, "I love you, I really do. But your father and I need to go to sleep. We have to get up early tomorrow."

"Oh! Sorry, do you guys need me to help?"

"Well…," my dad starts. He grunts though when my mom elbows him in the ribs.

"No, _tesoro_. You're practically on vacation, sleep in. Then, we'll talk." She gives me a playful wink before heading up the steps. "Come on, Abe, time for bed."

"Coming, Rosa. Ya' know there was a time when I LOVED hearing those words." He cackles when my mom grins and while I shutter in disgust. He limps up after her, retiring to their bedroom. Wolfgang and Rozzlin follow up after them.

Sighing, I know there isn't a good TV show at this time of night and I didn't leave to go out and start clubbing.

"Well," I say, getting up, "I guess I'm off to bed, too." I walk up the steps, my heart breaking at the sounds of Buddy's whine. "Look, I'm sorry." I tell him, staring into his big sad brown eyes. "But I can't carry you. I'm strong enough to flip a car over my head, but I can't carry a sixty pound dog up the steps. I…I just can't."

He paces, whimpering and whining, and places his two front paws on the first step.

I quickly turn around and head up to my room, light flooding the halls as I do so.

My ceiling fan's light brightens my room as I step through the threshold, shutting the bedroom door behind me.

"Ugh," I groan, noting the missing _click_ sound of the door latching. Placing both of my hands on the door, I push the door shut. I walk towards my windows and shut and lock them, pulling the curtains too. Although our neighbors are acres away, I feel the need to conceal myself as I dress for bed. There's nothing simple to my nighttime attire; purple short-short pajama bottoms and navy blue short sleeved shirt.

Licking my lips, I turn on the light blue and teal lava lamp. I pull the covers of my bed away, before turning the main source of light off. I all but run to my bed and hide under my covers. True, a lava lamp is a greater source of light. However, it's more of a health hazard; fire and so forth. My stars are numerous across my ceiling – painting it with a very light and subtle green glow. My old lava lamp is only concentrated in one spot in my room – accenting the dark corners of my room.

So I lay down, clutching one of the soft throw pillows with my feather bed pillows under my head and stare at my light source. I watch the teal blobs of lava slowly move inside just waiting for the back wall to light on fire. In the past, when I watched it, it never happened, but it could. Couldn't it?

I watch the colored blobs until my eyelids grow heavy with sleep and I'm forced to shut them. With my eyes closed, I listen for the sounds of crackling fire and the smell of cooking dry wall. All I hear are the sounds of the house settling from time to time, the wind moving in the trees, soft yipping from one of the dogs, and the electricity moving to and from the lamp.

I can feel my limps grow heavy and go slack with sleep. Losing myself in dreams.

_Fire._

_All around me there's fire. Raging across the ground and licking at the starry sky._

_Smoke._

_Black smoke hovers around me. My screams are cut short as coughs rip past my lips._

_Despite the danger I run across the slick, blood soaked earth. I nearly slip as I scream for someone. The growing fire swipes across my legs and torn dress. There are silhouettes in the thick fog; knights fighting monsters._

_Swords meeting flesh._

_Those are the sounds they make. Long metal swords hack off slimy limbs._

_Screams._

_Unnatural screams sound; they can't be the soldiers dressed in dazzling armor. They HAVE to belong to those slimly monsters! There can't be any civilians; good people aren't suppose to die in places like this!_

_Two people. _

_There are two people I desperately need to protect me. I don't know their names; I know what they look like though. One is a large man with blonde hair and a hammer. The other is a slender man with black hair and magic. I scream for them, their names somewhere deep in my mind. Locked away in a solid steel cage._

_I run along the open, flame filled halls screaming for them. I round a corner gasping for a cool breath, only to inhale thick smoke, and eyes widen in fear. Slimly…bumpy…monsters turn to me, bulging eyes slowly turn towards me. Blood drips and oozes from their sharp and crooked yellow teeth. A wide man with gold armor stares lifelessly up at them – fear forever painted on his face. A single over revolting large man points at me. He gargles, "Her."_

_I run away._

_A solid, coarse feeling rubs up along my palm._

_I've only felt that a few times before. A sword. I need a sword! Looking down I see only the black air._

_A tickling feeling begins at the ends of my fingers._

_I don't know how, but I manage to throw my arm back and have fire erupt from my hand. Followed by lightening soon after. I still scream for the faceless men as I run, tears streaming down my face. I need those two men! The man with the hammer and the man with magic!_

_Something sudden and sharp lodges itself in my back. I don't stop running though I can feel the blood running down my back and sticking to my gown._

_More monsters – cut and burned – rise from the flames and surround me. I shout something, words I never used before easily fall from my lips. I killed one of the monsters with an ice dagger. I start to shout again, only a slimy and calloused hand clamps over my mouth. Its stench nearly makes me pass out._

_LET ME GO! I want to shout._

_Its hands move to my elbows and pull her away._

_I scream and scream for them – for the two young men._

"_HELP ME! … HELP ME!"my voice rises over the roaring flames._

_Over the high blaze and helpless screams, I hear someone shout a name. It's not my own, except it raises a sense of recognition in me._

_With tearful eyes, and through the black haze and the moving hot air, I see a man with frazzled white bread and a gold patch covering his eye. He's dressed in gold armor splattered with blood and riding a large black horse with eight legs. The man's face is aged with wisdom; although, it's full of rage and a form of protection I've only seen in my mom and dad._

"_DADDY!" I scream. Surely if those two men aren't here, this man, the one I just called 'Daddy,' he will save me. I scream again and again for him, kicking the air._

_I hear a grumble from behind me and the monsters rush forward to the white haired man._

_Past the chokes and sobs, I take one last final breath and bellow, "DADDY!"_

_He fades away and I'm being pulled everywhere. Swirling around and around, kicking and clawing at these monsters. I can feel the magical words leaving me._

"_NO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO! NO!" I scream at them, slashing at one monster's face. I elbow the other in the face. I go to run; yet, I don't feel the ground beneath my feet. I'm spinning – head over feet._

_They grab me again. One pulls me to his disgusting chest; his slime pressed against my bloodied back. I kick the other, warding him off._

"_RELEASE ME AT ONCE! NOW! AHHHH!"_

_The monster behind me pulls at my hair, exposing my neck. A cold feeling of dread fills my stomach; they'll kill me now. Slice my neck or rip out my esophagus with those crooked teeth. I will not cry, I will not cry in front of these…monsters._

_The dark monster before reveals a purple vial of sorts, with a black cobweb and a galaxy wrapped around it. I seal my mouth shut, turning my head away from him. They'll poison me._

_Tears begin to leak from my eyes._

_A sharp pain stabs at my left side; I scream and the contents of the vial is poured into my gaping mouth. I try to gag and spit it out, the monster clamps its hand over my mouth and nose. My heart is pounding and panic wraps tighter and tighter around me._

_Don't swallow. Don't swallow. Don't swallow._

_I must; I swallow for the need for air. What does it mean to live with this defeat ever inside me?_

_I stagger away from them, my feet on solid ground and cold rain pouring on me, glaring at them as the follow me. The rain washes away the soot, slime, and blood. I rip the dagger from my side and point it at the four of them. I watch the moving figures._

"_Leave me be…," I breathlessly order._

_They continue to stalk me, smiling wickedly._

"_NO!"_

I gasp awake, bolting upright. A cold breeze washes over me. My hands tremble as I search for the bedside lamp on either side of my bed. Each light fills my room; chasing away the shadows. I look around my room, searching for the source of the cold. My legs tremble as I stumble to a single window. The drapes move with the gentle night breeze.

_I know I shut and locked this window._

I look out to the great field before me, staring at the outline of the giant barn. I watch for anything out of the norm – from the Ring's stands to the rolling hills to the trees around and in our property. Nothing happens, yet my heart and shakes refuse to calm down. I slam the window shut and lock it, making sure the stoppers are out.

I hear a scrapping sound at my door and I jump. My heart jumps into my throat and my stomach goes cold. It slowly opens. I slowly walk to my bed side, jump on it to avoid the monsters under my bed. As carefully as I possibly can with my terrible traumatic shakes, I take out my metal baseball bat.

My breath catches in my throat as my door slowly opens with a creek. I nearly cry with relief when I see Buddy's head poke through. He whimpers and whines from my door, looking around my room.

I crumble to the floor, my bat clanging on the carpeted covered floor, covering a sob. "C'mere, Buddy." I hold out my hands for him.

He eagerly walks in with a slight limp; nevertheless his tail wags high in the air, whining. I wrap my arms around him, kiss him, and nuzzle him. He presses up against me, licking and nuzzling under my jaw.

"Good boy…good boy," I say between kisses. "You'll protect me, won't you?" I lay down, slowly ripping the quilt from my bed with me. I make sure my back and feet are protected from the shadows under my bed. Buddy moves his feet a couple of times next to me, before he lays down in front of me. We both watch the door until we fall asleep.

**~ Asgard ~**

Night has fallen long ago in Asgard. The tall golden palace dulls shines silver in the moons' glow. Large torches dot across the cities as the stars dot the blue velvet sky; albeit not as dazzling. Guards in groups of three patrol the wide, open halls. The loud footsteps echo up and down the corridors. One, young, guard's eyes linger on the Forbidden Room.

_What could possibly be behind that door?_ he wonders. With his two comrades, they march down the halls.

In the highest tower – where the King and Queen and Prince reside – is where the marching stomps are continuous. They're a mere background noise in the ever silence. The King and Prince are in court on the ground floor, a multitude amount of guard to protect them. Frigga resides in her chambers, sleep far from her person. Beneath her make-up are dark circles and her prettily styled blonde hair hides the fact it hasn't been properly taken care of. The past three months she refused any help from her handmaidens.

She's so close. So close to finding her daughter.

Frigga sits elegantly on her swan fainting couch, hand raised to the roaring fire before her. Sweat trickles down from her temple in her hard concentration. She whispers her daughter's name; trying not to cry when she does so. The sounds of the guards' heavy footfalls are nothing to her, the wind against her back and cheek go unnoticed. Frigga stretches her abilities well past their limits and she leaves her hand raised to the flame, saying her little girl's name yet again.

A glimpse of the monsters, from all those years ago, holding her screaming daughter comes to her mind's eye.

A screaming maiden is next.

A silver sterling diamond key with drops of blood is the third.

Big blue eyes full of tears are fourth.

Lastly, a tremble hand holding dark curtains.

In the windows reflection, Frigga sees her frightened daughter. The Queen's hand falls to her mouth and joyous tears fall from her eyes. She falters; the images shatter like a broken glass.

_She's alive!_

Picking up her the skirt of her dress she runs down to the Throne Room; ordering the guards to open the doors for her. Seeing the determined blaze in her eyes, and knowing how short she has been with everyone lately, they comply.

All fall silent at the sight of their Queen entering the room; all but the King and Prince bow at her entrance. Odin stands and walks down the golden steps to meet his wife. He's shocked to see her up and walking at the time of night dread and heartache have normally taken her to bed at this time.

"Frigga," he says, voice booming through the golden room, "what are you doing here?" He didn't mean it in an accusation way, she knows, just merely filled with concern and curiosity.

"She's alive, Odin," she says, grasping his arm. "I've seen her and she's alive!"

"LEAVE US!" the AllFather orders. The guards, warriors, and councilmen leave in a hurry. Their capes and cloaks brush against the floor behind in swishing movements.

Thor, who is full of concern and curiosity stays. He wasn't ordered to leave and he wonders who this maiden is to have such a powerful impact on his mother and father.

"My magic showed me visions – the visions Heimdall spoke of twenty-five years ago! The monsters, her screaming face, and her key we gave her with drops of blood. I saw two others; one of her crying eyes and another of her stricken with fear. I don't know where she is, but she alive, Odin! She's alive!" By now her body is shaking with repressed joy and tears smear her make-up. "We must expand our troops to all the Nine Realms; leave none unmarked!"

"Yes," Odin says, grinning widely and eye shining with joy, "I will. Now. We will find her and she will be with us once more."

"Who?" Thor asks, his curiosity now confusion. He looks back and forth between his stunned parents with a raised brow. "Who will you find and who will be with you once more?"

* * *

**A/N: How was it? What are your guys'/gals' thoughts on Tessa's family and non-glamours life? I find it a nice difference from the Princess' life.**

**Answers to reviews:**

**Allanna Stone- ***falls out of chair* Wow, um, thanks! I'm glad you loved it. ^-^ I liked writing it. I'm hoping that I can incorporate more of the movies Tessa's starred in. If possible it'll be fun to see how everyone (Thor, Loki, and Steve mainly) react to seeing her like that.

**Aleiaa- **Thanks, I can't wait to update it!

**Nashira Kozoroh-** :D Thanks! Is there anything in particular you love about it? If you don't mind me asking.

**Amy (Guest)-** Thank you so much! It was fun writing. I am too-OH DON'T TELL ME THAT! *covers ears* I gotta wait a LONG time to see "Thor 2!"  
As of yet, I haven't set a deadline. However, there MIGHT be one soon. Maybe after... *counts fingers, muttering* Chapter Nine is where shit gets real, Chapter Ten is when she's..., Chapter Eleven she meets..., Twelve... I have a basic outline written in my head; so the deadline could be announced on Chapter Eleven.  
Although, Tessa hasn't met Loki yet, I have gotten votes for him. I'm not saying you should vote right now in any way; you can wait to vote.  
*grinning* I can't wait to post it! :D

*****VOTE COUNT:*****  
Loki- 7  
Steve- 3

**Next chapter's title:****  
****Kissed by a Red Rose**


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